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wasn t politic, he found ways of raising barriers against their interference
... this tendency had grown stronger in him with every year that passed this
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need for autonomy ... and he loathed magic in all of its aspects ... he was
afraid of it ... this at-tack was magic ... he pushed it away ... pushed it
away ... pushed it away ... despite the confusion from the fever and the
weakness of his body, he lashed out at the pressure ... drove it away from him
... though it came back ... though it always came back ... the Taken appalled
him to the heart of his bones ... surrender his will? Never never NEVER
NEVER ...
he fought off the pressure ... pushed it back ... fought with the feral
intensity of a wounded Sicamar
Eventually the encroaching blackness went away, leaving behind a
sense of puzzlement and frustration.
He collapsed on the plank of the cot, shivering and only half-conscious.
Trax-Adlayr glided in tight circles above the largest structure in the
village, Honeydew clinging to his neck fur.
That s the place where they took him.
He scanned its walls, his raptor s eyesight picking out a whitish flutter.
Something was dangling from a small window low down in the wall, half
concealed by the stalks of a flowering plant.
You see that, Honey? There, down near the ground.
He dipped lower, stabbed at the corner of the building with the trax s
leathery beak.
Honeydew see. Rag waving. Adlee think Hev he did it?
He knows we ll be looking. Likely he d give us a clew if he could. I ll go
down, let you off. You y crawl in and see if it s him and how he s doing. Then
we figure out how to get him out of there.
Honeydew landed in the window, eased herself down the slope and past the bars,
the sound of harsh and unsteady breathing in her ears. As she came to the
inner edge of the window, she flattened herself on the stone, then peered into
the cell beyond.
It was dark in there, she couldn t see much. The breathing came from a long
lump on a plank bed supported by wall chains. She bit her lip, launched
herself from the stone and fluttered across to the chain nearest the sleeper s
head.
It was
Hedivy, but he didn t sound good. There was a dark stain, probably a bruise
down the side of his face, and something white showing in the neck opening of
his shirt, bandage, she thought. As she watched, his face clenched, relaxed,
his mouth worked but he didn t say anything, his eyes didn t open.
She thought he was probably asleep, not un-conscious, though she couldn t be
sure.
She left the chain and flew to the small aperture in the door, squeezed past
the iron rods and dropped onto the bar.
No guards in sight. She could hear someone coughing in one of the
other cells, a snore from an-other. Whoever ran this place, looked like
they kept themselves busy with prisoners.
She launched herself from the bar, flew up to the ceiling and moved through
the shadows along the wall toward a shadowy flight of stairs.
They led to a gloom-filled corridor lit by candles in black iron
holders, the flames shielded by cylinders of glass; the light that crept
past the smears of black soot on the sides of those cylinders
showed her ranks of doors marching along on both sides. As she flew nearer,
she saw that the doors had slides set in them near the top, with most of these
slides cracked open so the sleepers could get some air.
Honeydew fluttered to one of them and widened the opening until she could
perch on the ledge and look inside.
A man lay wrapped in blankets on a narrow cot. His clothes hung from pegs on
the wall, she could just make out the eyeholes of a black hood. Youm-bard.
Maybe even one of those that attacked their camp on the far side of the lake,
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enjoying the sleep of a job well done. She snorted, then pressed her hand
against her nose and mouth, afraid she d wake him. A long sputtery snore
reassured her and she flew on, stopping at intervals to check the rooms. Some
were empty, the rest had more yournbards snoring away.
Footsteps. Bootheels only slightly muffled by the worn drugget that covered
the stone floor.
She zoomed for the nearest door, flattened her body on the lintel, pressed her
wings against the wall.
A youmbard came marching along the corridor. He banged on a door.  Houp, houp,
Jamon, relief time. He called three more, then marched on to an-other room,
one of those she hadn t looked into. She heard water splashing, other noises.
Coming off duty and getting ready for his turn at sleeping.
The doors he d knocked on were opening, sleepy youmbards emerging, pulling on
hoods, buttoning buttons, grumbling about the draw that gave them this watch.
By the time they reach the end of the hallway, they were walking in step, not
talking anymore.
Honeydew hurried after them, turn and turn again in the labyrinth of narrow
corridors that went round the edge of the building, until they emerged into a
monstrous echoing chamber with a lot of dust and fragments about, some
considerable changes being made on the wall carvings, more work going on about
the massive statue of the Maiden standing under the dome.
Was the Maiden s House. Looks like that s changing.
She shuddered.
Gone to Glory.
Two of the youmbards slapped hands with the guard waiting beside immense
double doors fifteen feet tall, carved in deep relief with flowers, leaves and
vines; he yawned and went off, while they took up posts there. The other two
slapped hands with them, marched off. Honeydew sighed and flew after them.
If those two were heading for a back door of some kind, it might be easier to
get out that way.
She followed the youmbards through another maze of corridors to the back of
the building, saw them re-lieve the two guards there, then station themselves
beside a much smaller door at the far side of a stone room with worn benches
pushed against the walls.
Ei vai, I was right, she thought and did a little
air-strut in honor of her perspicacity, this looks like it might be possible.
Oy-ay, Honeydew is tired. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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