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."Is it over?" he heard the ethran whisper, her voice echoing from within the tower's all-consuming quiet."Is it ended?""It is ended, ethran," said Syrolf."It is done."The pale light of ghostly flames drew Bastun's attention to the western gates of the city.Plumes of black smoke mingled with the mists as the memory of screams and wailing cries reached his sensitive ears.Ghosts began again their ritual—the flames, the demons, the children, their chains, and the armies of a misguided prince.Bastun pitied them, understanding the plight of being slave to an inescapable past, but he was now free and those chains would no longer hold him."It is truly a new day," he said under his breath.+chapter Tuueoty-SiKNightal3, I376DR, Year of the Bent Bladenow fell softly from gray skies brightened by morning's light.The day ushered in a silence that could be felt and seen around every corner, down every stairway, and hiding amidst the towering heights of each tower.It was a waiting quiet, a brief respite from the play that would erupt shortly after sundown.Even in its dormancy, Bastun could sense the strange vibrations of the Weave in Shandaular.The ability to see and feel so much that should be invisible worried him.He found if he concentrated well enough, he could ignore the haunting memories of the Shield.The images came and went so fast they wete giving him headaches and he was grateful to be free of the barrage.Faces had appeared that he recognized as if familiar, though he could not recall the names.The cutsed walls of the Shield did not deal in names or identity, only visions and voices, fractured moments of daily life.There was much he could study and learn here, much that he felt compelled to do, but his curiosity could wait awhile longer.He kept his hood pulled low, frightened that the places and things he had seen would be there for all to see in his stare.He touched the edges of his mask from time to time, making sure he was concealed, that no one could witness the hell that had stained him so.With Thaena at their lead, the group set out from the Shield and into the empty streets of Shandaular.None looked back, tradition and superstition keeping them focused on the road ahead and keeping the smordanya at their backs.Every moment passed as an eternity.Bastun gazed at the sky, guessing at the sun's position and calculating the daylight left before nightfall.Through it all, the others avoided him.He was isolated as before, but now the reasons seemed to have changed.When he caught the odd stare or two, they looked upon him with the respect given to those that wore the masks of Rashemen, of wychlaren and vremyonni.No one asked him what had occurred in the northwest tower.None whispered or repeated old rumors.They saw in him the vyrrdi, the mystery, and did not question his manner or his silence.The feeling was uncomfortable and strange, causing him to retreat further into his deep hood.Somewhere inside, there was a sense of accomplishment and of completion that flickered to life.This too he was unused to dealing with, and he ignored it for the moment, content to assist and work against the marching armies of time that he sensed growing closer and closer despite the hours left until sunset.Snow-covered lanes slowed progress to the docks where the Rashemi felucca had been tied.Bastun breathed deep of the outside air, looking more closely at his surroundings, seeing them for the first time in the relative light of day.The cold did not bother him in the slightest.The Flame, the ring that had protected him from Serevan's hunger and Stygia's chill still warmed him, though its effect had lessened considerably.He was grateful for the comfort but felt an odd twinge of concern at the thought of removing the ring.He clenched his fist around it, curious, but patient.Sheets of ice across Lake Ashane gleamed a pure white, bobbing slightly, though the day would soon come when the lake's surface would move very little.The northern winter had begun, and the tendays ahead would make them look back onfitful storms and blizzards with longing for such balmy times.The felucca was as they'd left it, securely tied, sails stowed and ready to be unfurled.Bastun stared at the hazy horizon, imagining the forests at the water's edge and searching himself for any longing to return, any sense of unfulfilled obligation he might have overlooked in his haste to leave his old life behind.Nothing.There was nothing calling him, nothing awaiting him.Beautiful though Rashemen might be, and numerous the memories he had made there, it was not enough.He and Thaena stood side by side as the dead were carefully loaded onto the felucca [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]