I noticed a bit of orange-red color that seemed a great deal like the sky. The grey had taken on a texture, and suddenly, instead of looking at something mysterious and terrifying, I realized that I was looking at a mountain, with a bit of sky beyond it. Of course, there was no mountain that close to Castle Black, which made it mysterious and terrifying, but you can’t have everything.
“Where or what is it?” I said.
“We are looking at Hawk Mountain, in the Kanefthali chain.” Something in his voice made me look at him; he was exerting a great deal of effort, more than I’d ever seen from him before.
His left hand was clenched into a fist, turned up, and held stiffly out in front of him at about chin height, the elbow bent. His right hand and arm were moving, going through various gyrations while the fingers extended, contracted, wiggled, twitched, and generally appeared to have a life of their own. Morrolan’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and he was breathing loudly, through opened lips, creating a very slight whistling sound through his clenched teeth.
The thought Earth, water, fire, and air came into my mind as I compared left hand, right hand, eyes, and mouth; but I strongly suspect it wasn’t anything that simple. I’ve seen sorcery, and I’ve seen witchcraft, and this didn’t look like either one. I wasn’t at all certain I wanted to know what it was.
I looked back through the window, and it seemed to be moving—or, more accurately, it seemed as if we were moving.
My knees suddenly felt wobbly and I didn’t like it. I looked at Morrolan again, and he was still staring intently through the window. He was making aimless gestures with his hands, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.
The mountain appeared to rush at us, and I actually felt a falling sensation. I stepped backward and looked for something to brace against. Then it slowed and stopped, and just outside the window, so close I could touch it, was a dirt path leading to a cave that looked to be about forty feet away.
My heart was still racing. I glanced at Morrolan, who now seemed entirely relaxed; only his breathing showed that he had recently exerted himself.
“What’s going on?” I managed.
“We’re going to ask—”
“We?”
“—our questions of someone who might know the answers.”
“Why ‘we’? What am I doing here?”
“Just in case.”
“I thought you said there’d be no danger.”
“I don’t expect there will be.”
He stepped through the window, and just like leaving an ordinary window of an ordinary house, he stood on the ground outside, on a rocky path, about forty feet from the entrance to a cave. I sent a suspicious look at the cave. I’ve never been that fond of caves at the best of times.
“But,” continued Morrolan, “it never hurts to have an extra blade along just in case. They can be unpredictable.”
“Who is they?”
“The Serioli,” he said. “Come on.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered, and stepped through the window.
INTERLUDE: MANEUVERS
Some things you do, you never seem to be done with; years later they come back and remind you, slap you, beat you up. Here I am telling a story of what happened years ago, trying to remember how I felt back then, and—well, forgive the digression, but it belongs here.
Just today, Sethra the Younger returned from exile (Sethra Lavode exiled her off the world a few weeks ago in punishment for, well, never mind what for) and sent word asking me to wait upon her. I don’t like her, she doesn’t like me, and I couldn’t imagine how this could be anything good. And there would be no reason for me to go if I had steered clear of Dragonlords and their business, but since Baritt died I’ve surrounded myself with them, and now I’m in love with a woman who used to associate with Norathar, who is Dragon Heir to the throne. All of which made it difficult to decline the invitation.
Sorry for the confusion—but that’s what happens when you
“Where or what is it?” I said.
“We are looking at Hawk Mountain, in the Kanefthali chain.” Something in his voice made me look at him; he was exerting a great deal of effort, more than I’d ever seen from him before.
His left hand was clenched into a fist, turned up, and held stiffly out in front of him at about chin height, the elbow bent. His right hand and arm were moving, going through various gyrations while the fingers extended, contracted, wiggled, twitched, and generally appeared to have a life of their own. Morrolan’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and he was breathing loudly, through opened lips, creating a very slight whistling sound through his clenched teeth.
The thought Earth, water, fire, and air came into my mind as I compared left hand, right hand, eyes, and mouth; but I strongly suspect it wasn’t anything that simple. I’ve seen sorcery, and I’ve seen witchcraft, and this didn’t look like either one. I wasn’t at all certain I wanted to know what it was.
I looked back through the window, and it seemed to be moving—or, more accurately, it seemed as if we were moving.
My knees suddenly felt wobbly and I didn’t like it. I looked at Morrolan again, and he was still staring intently through the window. He was making aimless gestures with his hands, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.
The mountain appeared to rush at us, and I actually felt a falling sensation. I stepped backward and looked for something to brace against. Then it slowed and stopped, and just outside the window, so close I could touch it, was a dirt path leading to a cave that looked to be about forty feet away.
My heart was still racing. I glanced at Morrolan, who now seemed entirely relaxed; only his breathing showed that he had recently exerted himself.
“What’s going on?” I managed.
“We’re going to ask—”
“We?”
“—our questions of someone who might know the answers.”
“Why ‘we’? What am I doing here?”
“Just in case.”
“I thought you said there’d be no danger.”
“I don’t expect there will be.”
He stepped through the window, and just like leaving an ordinary window of an ordinary house, he stood on the ground outside, on a rocky path, about forty feet from the entrance to a cave. I sent a suspicious look at the cave. I’ve never been that fond of caves at the best of times.
“But,” continued Morrolan, “it never hurts to have an extra blade along just in case. They can be unpredictable.”
“Who is they?”
“The Serioli,” he said. “Come on.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered, and stepped through the window.
INTERLUDE: MANEUVERS
Some things you do, you never seem to be done with; years later they come back and remind you, slap you, beat you up. Here I am telling a story of what happened years ago, trying to remember how I felt back then, and—well, forgive the digression, but it belongs here.
Just today, Sethra the Younger returned from exile (Sethra Lavode exiled her off the world a few weeks ago in punishment for, well, never mind what for) and sent word asking me to wait upon her. I don’t like her, she doesn’t like me, and I couldn’t imagine how this could be anything good. And there would be no reason for me to go if I had steered clear of Dragonlords and their business, but since Baritt died I’ve surrounded myself with them, and now I’m in love with a woman who used to associate with Norathar, who is Dragon Heir to the throne. All of which made it difficult to decline the invitation.
Sorry for the confusion—but that’s what happens when you
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