again it'll be done. There'll be no pain. Stay awake as long as you wish — or can — but I'd advise not to prolong the inevitable. That helps no one."
He left, carrying the torch with him. Joslyn slumped against a wall and tried to think. Tagramon was clearly tired; he hadn't slept since the augury by the look of him. He would retire soon... he must! Joslyn reached under her robe very carefully, praying that what she had hidden there was undisturbed. Her fingers closed on the paper bundle and she stopped holding her breath. She unwrapped the paper until the sleeping crystals showed as a faint patch of white in the gloom.
What if they're watching me already ?
Possible, but Joslyn didn't think so. If the Dream Master meant to sleep now — and she was only hopeful about that — then there was no hurry. Despite his melancholia Joslyn was certain he'd be present when they killed her. And even a Temple Dreamer wouldn't be expected to sleep again so soon, so there would be no smothering drug to keep her nightsoul penned.
Joslyn shrugged; there was no point worrying. If she was wrong, she lost nothing not already forfeit. But if she was right, then there would be a small chance to salvage something.
Revenge.
She waited as long as she dared, then creased the paper and poured the drug into her mouth. She had no water; the crystals felt like sand in her throat and the bitterness brought tears to her eyes. She almost gagged, and grimly worked her tongue until a trickle of spit gathered, then swallowed. She did it again and the effort nearly made her sick, but the drug went down. The taste never did.
Awful .
Joslyn lay back on the straw, closed her eyes, and started a silent prayer to Somna the Dreamer. She almost finished it.
*
Ghost watched the entrance to the Temple. Two acolytes in plain white robes flanked the door, their hands hidden under long sleeves.
Carrying steel, no doubt .
It puzzled him — why would the Temple of Somna need armed guards? Granted, thieves sometimes tried their luck against the Temple. There was certainly gold about for those clever or bold enough to take it, and it was certainly a fine thing to be rich.
Provided you never went to sleep again.
The lucky ones returned their spoils, begging forgiveness and the honor of paying a very stiff penance. Those more stubborn or greedy held out longer than their sanity. Guards there were, but nothing so crude as this.
What to do ?
The only thing he could do, for now. Ghost watched, and waited.
*
Tagramon's nightsoul wasn't hard to find. It was vibrant and glowing; it strutted the stage with the attention - grabbing presence of a veteran actor. Joslyn hid herself in the misty curtains, watching. And waiting. But a new emotion had been added to fear and anger — fascination.
What's he doing ?
Agmen a wore a robe of pure light. It bathed his body and limbs like an endless flash of lightning. His hands weaved the pattern of an ancient blessing, and as he moved bits of his robe — no, his body— tore away like wisps of smoke in a high wind, only to settle and reform, glowing, on the stage as tiny men and women. They took on a life of their own, fighting, loving, living under the stern but benevolent gaze of the Dream Master. With a wave of his little finger he gave life, and took it back again. Joslyn understood, and her smile was white and cold.
The bastard thinks he's a god !
She shrugged. Why not? It wasn't so very different from what he had in mind for her. With a wave of his hand he would take her life, too, only he wouldn't be able to give it back. Joslyn felt her anger rising, and she made no effort to hold it in check. With hope gone, hate was the only weapon she had. She honed it to a fine edge and awaited her chance.
Tagramon pointed at a young girl, little more than a candle - flicker in the grand design. "Die," he said.
"No," she said.
The Dream Master's jaw dropped in astonishment and his raiment of light dimmed a bit. With a
He left, carrying the torch with him. Joslyn slumped against a wall and tried to think. Tagramon was clearly tired; he hadn't slept since the augury by the look of him. He would retire soon... he must! Joslyn reached under her robe very carefully, praying that what she had hidden there was undisturbed. Her fingers closed on the paper bundle and she stopped holding her breath. She unwrapped the paper until the sleeping crystals showed as a faint patch of white in the gloom.
What if they're watching me already ?
Possible, but Joslyn didn't think so. If the Dream Master meant to sleep now — and she was only hopeful about that — then there was no hurry. Despite his melancholia Joslyn was certain he'd be present when they killed her. And even a Temple Dreamer wouldn't be expected to sleep again so soon, so there would be no smothering drug to keep her nightsoul penned.
Joslyn shrugged; there was no point worrying. If she was wrong, she lost nothing not already forfeit. But if she was right, then there would be a small chance to salvage something.
Revenge.
She waited as long as she dared, then creased the paper and poured the drug into her mouth. She had no water; the crystals felt like sand in her throat and the bitterness brought tears to her eyes. She almost gagged, and grimly worked her tongue until a trickle of spit gathered, then swallowed. She did it again and the effort nearly made her sick, but the drug went down. The taste never did.
Awful .
Joslyn lay back on the straw, closed her eyes, and started a silent prayer to Somna the Dreamer. She almost finished it.
*
Ghost watched the entrance to the Temple. Two acolytes in plain white robes flanked the door, their hands hidden under long sleeves.
Carrying steel, no doubt .
It puzzled him — why would the Temple of Somna need armed guards? Granted, thieves sometimes tried their luck against the Temple. There was certainly gold about for those clever or bold enough to take it, and it was certainly a fine thing to be rich.
Provided you never went to sleep again.
The lucky ones returned their spoils, begging forgiveness and the honor of paying a very stiff penance. Those more stubborn or greedy held out longer than their sanity. Guards there were, but nothing so crude as this.
What to do ?
The only thing he could do, for now. Ghost watched, and waited.
*
Tagramon's nightsoul wasn't hard to find. It was vibrant and glowing; it strutted the stage with the attention - grabbing presence of a veteran actor. Joslyn hid herself in the misty curtains, watching. And waiting. But a new emotion had been added to fear and anger — fascination.
What's he doing ?
Agmen a wore a robe of pure light. It bathed his body and limbs like an endless flash of lightning. His hands weaved the pattern of an ancient blessing, and as he moved bits of his robe — no, his body— tore away like wisps of smoke in a high wind, only to settle and reform, glowing, on the stage as tiny men and women. They took on a life of their own, fighting, loving, living under the stern but benevolent gaze of the Dream Master. With a wave of his little finger he gave life, and took it back again. Joslyn understood, and her smile was white and cold.
The bastard thinks he's a god !
She shrugged. Why not? It wasn't so very different from what he had in mind for her. With a wave of his hand he would take her life, too, only he wouldn't be able to give it back. Joslyn felt her anger rising, and she made no effort to hold it in check. With hope gone, hate was the only weapon she had. She honed it to a fine edge and awaited her chance.
Tagramon pointed at a young girl, little more than a candle - flicker in the grand design. "Die," he said.
"No," she said.
The Dream Master's jaw dropped in astonishment and his raiment of light dimmed a bit. With a
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