DOMINION
C. S. Friedman
DOMINION
Copyright © 2011 by C. S. Friedman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Linda Gilbert and Casey Gordon
This story is dedicated to
Linda Gilbert, Tom Deitz, Vicki Sharp, Bob Green, Mike Stevens, and Sara Strickland
They know why.
DOMINION
D EEP WITHIN THE BOWELS of his makeshift bedchamber, Gerald Tarrant could feel the sun setting.
For a moment he lay still in darkness, savoring the moment. The dark fae lapped at his body softly, like waves on a moonless beach. The power was weak in this place—little more than random echoes of spiritual malevolence that had been drawn to him while he slept—but it was refreshing nonetheless.
Outside his temporary haven he could sense the hunger of creatures that crouched in the shadows, waiting for night to fall. Soon the sun would set and the balance of power in the world would shift once more. Soon all those night-born monsters that were held at bay by its lethal brilliance would venture forth once again, ready to feed upon blood or terror or despair, or whatever else suited their natures.
I must go to the Forest , he thought suddenly.
The words rose unbidden from the depths of his soul, displacing all other thoughts. That didn’t surprise him. For some days now he had been experiencing strange impulses, almost as if some outside power was placing thoughts in his head. Cross the Serpent Straits, a sourceless voice would whisper. Go east. A lesser man might perhaps have believed that such thoughts were his own, and responded without question. But he, who was more than a man, knew better.
The Forest was calling to him.
Opening his eyes, he sat up on his makeshift bed. Though the storage room surrounding him was dark to human eyes, it was anything but lightless to him. Earth-fae stirred in the corners of the chamber, its icy blue glow visible to his adept’s sight. It took little effort for him to call up a wisp of the power and bind it to his purpose, using it to cleanse his person of the dust that had gathered on him during his sleeping hours, neutralizing the faint scent of mildew that clung to him. The fact that he had taken shelter in a dirt-floored cellar didn’t mean he had to smell like the place.
The familiar act of Working helped him focus his mind, and for a moment the voice of the Forest was silent. But the respite would not last long, he knew. Less than a dozen miles from where he had slept the leading edge of a vast metaphysical whirlpool swept across the land, and the currents of power that roiled in its wake would not be held at bay by a simple sorcerer’s trick. A living man might ignore their influence for as long as he kept his own darker urges in check, but a creature who fed upon darkness itself had no such defense. Currents of black power tugged at Gerald Tarrant’s flesh like an inexorable riptide, trying to force him to move towards the center of the whirlpool. A lesser man would have given in long ago, without ever understanding what was driving him toward that hungry darkness. Only a man who knew the darkness by name understood it well enough to resist.
Come to me , the Forest whispered inside his brain.
Upstairs he could hear his hosts pacing back and forth, anxiously awaiting his emergence. While it was unlikely that they remembered the exact details of his arrival the night before, or the sorcerous commands that had made them cover over their windows and doors for his protection, they could sense
C. S. Friedman
DOMINION
Copyright © 2011 by C. S. Friedman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Linda Gilbert and Casey Gordon
This story is dedicated to
Linda Gilbert, Tom Deitz, Vicki Sharp, Bob Green, Mike Stevens, and Sara Strickland
They know why.
DOMINION
D EEP WITHIN THE BOWELS of his makeshift bedchamber, Gerald Tarrant could feel the sun setting.
For a moment he lay still in darkness, savoring the moment. The dark fae lapped at his body softly, like waves on a moonless beach. The power was weak in this place—little more than random echoes of spiritual malevolence that had been drawn to him while he slept—but it was refreshing nonetheless.
Outside his temporary haven he could sense the hunger of creatures that crouched in the shadows, waiting for night to fall. Soon the sun would set and the balance of power in the world would shift once more. Soon all those night-born monsters that were held at bay by its lethal brilliance would venture forth once again, ready to feed upon blood or terror or despair, or whatever else suited their natures.
I must go to the Forest , he thought suddenly.
The words rose unbidden from the depths of his soul, displacing all other thoughts. That didn’t surprise him. For some days now he had been experiencing strange impulses, almost as if some outside power was placing thoughts in his head. Cross the Serpent Straits, a sourceless voice would whisper. Go east. A lesser man might perhaps have believed that such thoughts were his own, and responded without question. But he, who was more than a man, knew better.
The Forest was calling to him.
Opening his eyes, he sat up on his makeshift bed. Though the storage room surrounding him was dark to human eyes, it was anything but lightless to him. Earth-fae stirred in the corners of the chamber, its icy blue glow visible to his adept’s sight. It took little effort for him to call up a wisp of the power and bind it to his purpose, using it to cleanse his person of the dust that had gathered on him during his sleeping hours, neutralizing the faint scent of mildew that clung to him. The fact that he had taken shelter in a dirt-floored cellar didn’t mean he had to smell like the place.
The familiar act of Working helped him focus his mind, and for a moment the voice of the Forest was silent. But the respite would not last long, he knew. Less than a dozen miles from where he had slept the leading edge of a vast metaphysical whirlpool swept across the land, and the currents of power that roiled in its wake would not be held at bay by a simple sorcerer’s trick. A living man might ignore their influence for as long as he kept his own darker urges in check, but a creature who fed upon darkness itself had no such defense. Currents of black power tugged at Gerald Tarrant’s flesh like an inexorable riptide, trying to force him to move towards the center of the whirlpool. A lesser man would have given in long ago, without ever understanding what was driving him toward that hungry darkness. Only a man who knew the darkness by name understood it well enough to resist.
Come to me , the Forest whispered inside his brain.
Upstairs he could hear his hosts pacing back and forth, anxiously awaiting his emergence. While it was unlikely that they remembered the exact details of his arrival the night before, or the sorcerous commands that had made them cover over their windows and doors for his protection, they could sense
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