[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
HAGUEFORT, NAVARNE, AT THE ARCHERY RANGE
At noon the master of the range called for the close of flights.
Gwydion Navarne sighed dispiritedly. Three center shots out of twenty in the last quiver. It was
probably just as well that the range was shutting down; his aim was getting progressively worse.
He unstrung the bow and was gathering the quiver up, preparing to see what arrows he could retrieve,
when he caught sight of Gerald Owen, moving as quickly as the elderly man could across the wide,
grassy range. The look on his face caused Gwydion to drop both the bow and the quiver and run to the
chamberlain.
'What is it?" he asked the puffing man.
Owen stopped and bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees.
'Word has come in by avian messenger, for the Lord Cymrian," he said, breathing heavily.
"Rhapsody has been taken prisoner, or killed."
The young man who would soon be duke heard the words, felt the electricity of the statement hum in
his skin as his stomach went icy, but his mind refused to allow their meaning to penetrate. He had heard
horrible news too often in his young life, the tidings of his mother's death, and had witnessed that of his
father in battle. This was too much.
'No more," he said. He stared blankly at the chamberlain. "No more."
Gerald Owen laid his hand on the boy's thin shoulder. "Come with me, Master Gwydion," he said
with a tone that was both gentle and authoritative. "I've summoned the falconer. There is no time to
waste; the bird can't sight at night. It has to away by at least fifty leagues before nightfall, or it will come
back without delivering its message."
Gwydion Navarne nodded numbly and followed Gerald Owen back over the darkening fields, the sun
overhead not casting as much as a hint of a shadow.
NEAR THE SEACOAST
cKhapsody was jostled from her waking nightmare into awareness as the seneschal reined his horse
to a halt.
Throughout the course of the ride the creature she had known as Michael in the old world, now a
living corpse, once despicably human, now truly demonic, had berated her relentlessly, punctuating his
discourse with new gouts of wind and flame released for emphasis, burning everything in sight. As each
new fire erupted she was overwhelmed with the reek of burning flesh, the unmistakable fetor of an
excited F'dor.
Her hold on her stomach had already been tenuous; she now was roiling in the dry nausea of horror.
The heat of the demon's breath on her neck, coupled with the skeletal hands groping her body, probing
beneath her clothes, fondling her, revolted her to the core of her being and made her wish for death.
Her touchstones of comfort had been polluted, deviated, into thoughts that only served to make her
despair. Any memory of Ashe caused her soul to bleed, knowing how terrified he would be for her. Far
worse, any reminder of the child she was carrying made her quake with fear, praying that its presence
would not be discovered.
As each hour passed, her belief that she would be able to escape from her captivity lessened. Michael
never left her alone, never let her out of his sight for a moment, assuring her repeatedly that this was the
way she would be passing her days from now on.
'Do you remember our last fortnight together in Serendair?" he had inquired as they rode, his lips
tracing the line of her neck to the shoulder. Rhapsody had closed her eyes, trying to block the memories,
but they came flooding back the captivity, the depravity, the total breaking of her spirit which only
served to feed his perverted enjoyment. "It is a time I hold dear in my heart, Rhapsody. A return to those
glorious days is at hand. When we return to Argaut, you will be the courtesan of the seneschal, the
minister of Justice, by day, the whore of the baron by night." She tried to close her mind and senses to
the rise of the stench that indicated the demon was even more excited at the prospect.
Michael had inhaled deeply, breathing in the smoky air with vigor, then pulled her closer so that his
lips were next to her ear.
'I will make you love me again, Rhapsody. You have never ceased to be mine, remember that. I
owned you long before any other man did; I will drive the memory of him out of your heart, and from
between your legs. You will be so full of me soon that there will be room for no other anywhere in you."
She thought of her child and fought back tears.
Finally, after time undetermined, the burning forest began to thin, the trees winnowing into outer forest
growth, then copses and glades, with wide expanses of open land between them, finally disappearing
altogether.
Rhapsody, her sense of smell heightened since the child was conceived, caught a trace of the sea air
the moment the burning forest was behind them. As they rode on, the wind grew heavy with salt as they
traveled west, heading straight for the seacoast.
The sound of the ocean came up with a gust of wind as the sun began to descend. The greatest fear in
Rhapsody's mind, being alone with Michael when the group made camp for the night, was cast aside as
she realized that the voyage he had been alluding to was imminent.
She had foolishly believed the nearest place they could embark on a vessel would be Port Fallon or
Traeg, the most northerly of the major and minor ports along the seacoasts of Avonderre and
Gwynwood. She had already been planning her escape, hoping to find assistance in the crowds of Port
Fallon or among the stoic fisherman who plied the cold, windswept waters off the tiny inlet of Traeg.
Now it was becoming clearer that Michael had other means, other plans.
She was in even greater danger than she had known.
The riders came to a halt at the opening of a rocky promontory, a great precipice overlooking the
churning sea. The sound of wind and waves crashing in concert against the cliff walls below rang with a
familiar tone, the discordant wail she had heard within the well of the prophetess's temple in Yarim.
Manwyn's voice rose up in Rhapsody's mind, smug and mysterious.
Rhapsody will not die bearing your children. The pregnancy will not be easy, but it will not kill
or harm her.
Was Manwyn predicting something else? she wondered dully as Michael seized her by the waist
and hauled her off the horse.Mayhap this is what she saw .
Her death at Michael's hands. Or at her own, faced with an even worse fate.
One should beware the Past, lady. The Past can be a relentless hunter, a stalwart protector, a
vengeful adversary. It seeks to have you; it seeks to aid you.
It seeks to destroy you.
She struggled to remain upright as the strong sea wind roared over the promontory, buffeting her face,
whipping the tatters of her shirt.
Michael took her wrist and dragged her forward on the promontory; it was a wide ledge, narrowing
to a distinct point, where the wind was fierce. His dark hair streamed behind him like a triumphant
banner, matched by the cloak, now blowing behind him as well; he seemed invigorated by the wind,
Rhapsody noted. She struggled to keep from trembling in his grasp, but was finding it hard not to do so
when faced with the reality of her captor's strength; aside from his obvious advantages of size and
strength, he was evidently tied to two elements, air and fire, both of which he seemed able to command
at will. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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HAGUEFORT, NAVARNE, AT THE ARCHERY RANGE
At noon the master of the range called for the close of flights.
Gwydion Navarne sighed dispiritedly. Three center shots out of twenty in the last quiver. It was
probably just as well that the range was shutting down; his aim was getting progressively worse.
He unstrung the bow and was gathering the quiver up, preparing to see what arrows he could retrieve,
when he caught sight of Gerald Owen, moving as quickly as the elderly man could across the wide,
grassy range. The look on his face caused Gwydion to drop both the bow and the quiver and run to the
chamberlain.
'What is it?" he asked the puffing man.
Owen stopped and bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees.
'Word has come in by avian messenger, for the Lord Cymrian," he said, breathing heavily.
"Rhapsody has been taken prisoner, or killed."
The young man who would soon be duke heard the words, felt the electricity of the statement hum in
his skin as his stomach went icy, but his mind refused to allow their meaning to penetrate. He had heard
horrible news too often in his young life, the tidings of his mother's death, and had witnessed that of his
father in battle. This was too much.
'No more," he said. He stared blankly at the chamberlain. "No more."
Gerald Owen laid his hand on the boy's thin shoulder. "Come with me, Master Gwydion," he said
with a tone that was both gentle and authoritative. "I've summoned the falconer. There is no time to
waste; the bird can't sight at night. It has to away by at least fifty leagues before nightfall, or it will come
back without delivering its message."
Gwydion Navarne nodded numbly and followed Gerald Owen back over the darkening fields, the sun
overhead not casting as much as a hint of a shadow.
NEAR THE SEACOAST
cKhapsody was jostled from her waking nightmare into awareness as the seneschal reined his horse
to a halt.
Throughout the course of the ride the creature she had known as Michael in the old world, now a
living corpse, once despicably human, now truly demonic, had berated her relentlessly, punctuating his
discourse with new gouts of wind and flame released for emphasis, burning everything in sight. As each
new fire erupted she was overwhelmed with the reek of burning flesh, the unmistakable fetor of an
excited F'dor.
Her hold on her stomach had already been tenuous; she now was roiling in the dry nausea of horror.
The heat of the demon's breath on her neck, coupled with the skeletal hands groping her body, probing
beneath her clothes, fondling her, revolted her to the core of her being and made her wish for death.
Her touchstones of comfort had been polluted, deviated, into thoughts that only served to make her
despair. Any memory of Ashe caused her soul to bleed, knowing how terrified he would be for her. Far
worse, any reminder of the child she was carrying made her quake with fear, praying that its presence
would not be discovered.
As each hour passed, her belief that she would be able to escape from her captivity lessened. Michael
never left her alone, never let her out of his sight for a moment, assuring her repeatedly that this was the
way she would be passing her days from now on.
'Do you remember our last fortnight together in Serendair?" he had inquired as they rode, his lips
tracing the line of her neck to the shoulder. Rhapsody had closed her eyes, trying to block the memories,
but they came flooding back the captivity, the depravity, the total breaking of her spirit which only
served to feed his perverted enjoyment. "It is a time I hold dear in my heart, Rhapsody. A return to those
glorious days is at hand. When we return to Argaut, you will be the courtesan of the seneschal, the
minister of Justice, by day, the whore of the baron by night." She tried to close her mind and senses to
the rise of the stench that indicated the demon was even more excited at the prospect.
Michael had inhaled deeply, breathing in the smoky air with vigor, then pulled her closer so that his
lips were next to her ear.
'I will make you love me again, Rhapsody. You have never ceased to be mine, remember that. I
owned you long before any other man did; I will drive the memory of him out of your heart, and from
between your legs. You will be so full of me soon that there will be room for no other anywhere in you."
She thought of her child and fought back tears.
Finally, after time undetermined, the burning forest began to thin, the trees winnowing into outer forest
growth, then copses and glades, with wide expanses of open land between them, finally disappearing
altogether.
Rhapsody, her sense of smell heightened since the child was conceived, caught a trace of the sea air
the moment the burning forest was behind them. As they rode on, the wind grew heavy with salt as they
traveled west, heading straight for the seacoast.
The sound of the ocean came up with a gust of wind as the sun began to descend. The greatest fear in
Rhapsody's mind, being alone with Michael when the group made camp for the night, was cast aside as
she realized that the voyage he had been alluding to was imminent.
She had foolishly believed the nearest place they could embark on a vessel would be Port Fallon or
Traeg, the most northerly of the major and minor ports along the seacoasts of Avonderre and
Gwynwood. She had already been planning her escape, hoping to find assistance in the crowds of Port
Fallon or among the stoic fisherman who plied the cold, windswept waters off the tiny inlet of Traeg.
Now it was becoming clearer that Michael had other means, other plans.
She was in even greater danger than she had known.
The riders came to a halt at the opening of a rocky promontory, a great precipice overlooking the
churning sea. The sound of wind and waves crashing in concert against the cliff walls below rang with a
familiar tone, the discordant wail she had heard within the well of the prophetess's temple in Yarim.
Manwyn's voice rose up in Rhapsody's mind, smug and mysterious.
Rhapsody will not die bearing your children. The pregnancy will not be easy, but it will not kill
or harm her.
Was Manwyn predicting something else? she wondered dully as Michael seized her by the waist
and hauled her off the horse.Mayhap this is what she saw .
Her death at Michael's hands. Or at her own, faced with an even worse fate.
One should beware the Past, lady. The Past can be a relentless hunter, a stalwart protector, a
vengeful adversary. It seeks to have you; it seeks to aid you.
It seeks to destroy you.
She struggled to remain upright as the strong sea wind roared over the promontory, buffeting her face,
whipping the tatters of her shirt.
Michael took her wrist and dragged her forward on the promontory; it was a wide ledge, narrowing
to a distinct point, where the wind was fierce. His dark hair streamed behind him like a triumphant
banner, matched by the cloak, now blowing behind him as well; he seemed invigorated by the wind,
Rhapsody noted. She struggled to keep from trembling in his grasp, but was finding it hard not to do so
when faced with the reality of her captor's strength; aside from his obvious advantages of size and
strength, he was evidently tied to two elements, air and fire, both of which he seemed able to command
at will. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]