[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
he'd not gone wrong in hiring me. And I'd been ten years at the work of
building an honestly earned reputation behind which to hide the one
naked dread I must let no one see-that my fear would once again kill
someone who trusted me. If I went back now, I'd go back shamed, a
coward for old men to point at, for women to cluck over, and children
to laugh at. A coward for Reatha to turn from in pity. Tarran and I, we
had to go on.
* * * * *
We left the spiral path after only a little while more of walking. We'd
not come to the bottom of the chasm-Tarran said we'd not gone even a
tenth of the distance down-but there was a fork in the winding road,
and the left-hand way led us off the rounding path and into a tunnel, a
small shaft. As we walked, me stooping again, the lesser echoes from
the chasm faded and fell behind. Claw's breathing, his long ago groans
and cries, followed. The sound of the beast was with us still as we
stepped from the shaft onto a great wide plain of stone.
A stream of water in a stony-edged channel ran through that plain, an
underground brook that seemed to spring from the rock itself and wander
away into the dark.
"Where does it come from, Tarran?"
He shrugged. "There are layers and layers under the world. The water
comes from under here, just like any sudden wellspring in the outworld.
"
Stalactites, like stony icicles, dripped down from the roof. Groves of
stalagmites rose from the floor, some as high as trees. Just past the
tunnel's mouth, in two places, pairs of each kind of formation joined,
making floor-to-roof columns like a formal entrance. Tarran said that
here would be a good place to stop and rest, and he told me we'd been
underground for most of the day.
"Outside, " he said, "the moons are rising. "
I ached for the sight of that, and the sound of crickets, and the
dazzle of stars on the black, black sky.
* * * * *
Tarran ate walking, pacing round the wide cavern, touching the walls,
stroking a pile of stone, and always coming back to the three columns.
We'd wedged a torch between some rocks and near the brook for the
water's reflection, but even so it gave little light. I sat close to
the brand, watching Tarran and seeing him as only a black shadow.
"I used to be a stone-wright, " he said, his hand on a glistening
column. He had a look about him as if he were touching a living thing.
"I'd take a hammer and chisel to a reach like this and call any shape
you wanted from it. " Softly, almost tenderly, he whispered, "It isn't
magic, but it used to feel like that. "
He turned, moved abruptly away from what he could now only dream about.
"That's how I know Cynara, " he said. "Not all the good stone is in
Thorbardin. I used to come out of the cities from time to time,
looking. She was a little girl when I first saw her, out behind the
tavern and planting thorny rose bushes. It was I who made the bench in
the garden, for her wedding gift. " He stopped, smiling ruefully. "For
her first wedding gift. There was another wedding planned, after she'd
been a widow for a while. But her man died. Ach, you probably know more
about that than me, being from Raven. Any case, Cynara's been a friend
for a long time. How do you know her?"
I leaned away from the light, scooped up icy water and drank. I was a
while swallowing, keeping the water in my mouth to warm. It was that
cold, like snowmelt, and swallowed too fast that stuff can cramp the
belly.
Finally, I said, "It was my father she was going to marry, that second
time. He died in a hunting accident. "
All around us the dragon-echo sighed, and if Tarran heard anything but
the thin fact in my answer he gave no sign.
"I'm sorry, " he said, awkward and caught unaware in the act of
trespassing on another's pain.
"Me, too. "
Tarran walked away from the stone. He sat down near the torch, and the
light glinted on the hilts of his knives, darted from the ruby-eyed
dragon brooch where his right arm used to be. He had a tentative look
on him, as though he wasn't sure he should say something. But he said
it, sure or not.
"Feeling better?" He glanced away, then back. "From before, I mean. "
"I've got the solid ground under me again, " I said flatly. "I feel
fine. "
His thin lips were a grim line, pressed tight, while he sat there
thinking. In the stony channel, the icy water rippled over rocks,
murmuring softly.
"You're not afraid of heights, Ryle, are you?"
"No more than you are. " And that was the truth. I laughed, for show.
"But I was afraid I wouldn't grow wings fast enough. "
The torch spat embers. Tiny bits of light arced over the brook and fell
into the breathing darkness. Tarran watched me intently, never
blinking, his black eyes never moving.
"Ryle, listen. "
The dragon breathed in echoes, like the sea lapping at the shore.
Tarran reached and touched my chest. He had a dark and strange look on
him now, like a man seeing visions-as though he could know everything
in my heart just from touching me. I wanted to move away, but I kept
still, afraid to seem afraid.
"They say you're fearless, Ryle Sworder. But surely they say wrong-no
one is fearless. Listen to yourself, Ryle, and search for your worst
fear, your most dire dread. Listen!"
He stood up, head cocked, eyes black as the chasm as the pupils
widened, adjusting to the greater darkness.
"Claw feeds at night, in the forest where no one goes. If we're very
lucky, and very careful, we won't see him. I'll get my revenge, and
we'll get out of here with our pockets and packs filled with enough
treasure to keep you like a king.
"But if our luck misses, " Tarran said, "if we once come in sight of
Claw, he'll know how to look at you and see your worst fear, the terror
that cripples you. He'll use that fear, and he'll kill you with it just
as if it were a sword to cut you apart. "
The torch guttered, spat sparks into the darkness, arcing bits of
light. Then the darkness fell; the stumpy little ember couldn't stand
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]