The Towers of the Sunset by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B
Authors: L. E. Modesitt Jr.
Tags: Speculative Fiction
Ads: Link
leather cloak but says nothing as he nudges the gray forward.
Creslin rides half a length back, his eyes already on the narrow deft at the edge of the snow-covered meadow-a cleft that points eastward. The weight of the blade on the shoulder straps reminds him that he is, for now, a guard of sorts, with a horse that will carry him eastward faster than his legs will. He eases up closer to the mercenary. "Tell me about Gallos . . . whatever you can."
Hylin snorts, then half-smiles. "We're headed for Fenard, named after, I'm told, the great King Fenardre. The storytellers claim he was the one who beat back the Legions of the West. And his was the first kingdom that didn't swallow the tyranny of the Legend. Fenard sits on a high plain and has two walls. The lower wall is more than ten times the height of a man ..."
XXII
THE COACH RUMBLES northward along the main post road from Bleyans, through Suthya, northward to the port of Rulyarth.
Megaera looks down at the white leather case that contains the mirror, then shakes her head. Why is it that using the mirror now leaves her stomach twisting? Can it have something to do with the lifelink? She tries to call up the familiar sense of the whiteness. Her wrists tingle, even though the iron bracelets are gone.
So far, she has managed to send her soul out after the silver-haired target three times-once to even touch his mind, the evening before, from her inn to his inn. Her lips tighten. "Men-even the most innocent-are violent beasts, even in their thoughts."
Her eyes fix on her sleeves, long enough to cover the scarred wrists, but her eyes fail to focus, and she feels lightheaded. Is it her imagination? Is there a reason why, at times, her head spins like the winds she can sense but cannot touch?
"No! Why him and not me?"
"Are you all right, my lady?" The guard leans down and peers through the open coach window.
"The Legend be damned if I know ..." Megaera glares at the guard. Her eyes spark with a white flame even as her head begins to ache.
The guard's visage jerks back, vanishing from Megaera's sight, just before a line of fire flares through the window.
Megaera purses her lips and listens to the driver and the guard, straining to hear their low voices above the rumble and the rattle of the coach.
"... careful there . . . Tyrant warned you ..."
"... be damned glad when we get to Rulyarth . . . damned glad."
"Look at it this way, mate. Anyone tries to stop us, and look what they'd get! Ha!"
"... sooner she's headed east where she belongs, the happier-"
"Relax. Just be glad you're not after her boyfriend. He's worse, they say."
"He's not my boyfriend!" The words hiss through Mega-era's teeth and rattle in her mind. "Damn you, sister ..." But the tears roll from the corners of her eyes as she recalls two girls stalking each other in a courtyard. Then it had been in play.
XXIII
THE ECHO OF the hooves resounds from the stone walls at Creslin, even as he can see ahead to where the canyon widens and the shadows of the hills rise beyond the last stone ramparts of the Westhorns.
Ahead of him, Hylin touches the hilt of the sword at his belt, leaning forward as if straining to hear someone, or something.
Creslin wonders why the mercenary appears so concerned now when they are about to reach the rolling plains of Gallos after nearly three days on winding mountain trails. Still, the man has far more experience than he does. Creslin gathers his senses and spreads himself to the winds, especially to those eddying around the trail where it opens into the brushy valley ahead.
The effort brings beads of sweat to his normally cool forehead, and he sways slightly in the saddle. After a time, however long it takes for the horses to tread another half kay, he straightens.
"Hylin . . ." His voice is raspy, for his throat has dried out. "There are two or three people down there, behind that ridge that faces where we'll leave the protection of the rocks."
Hylin's
Creslin rides half a length back, his eyes already on the narrow deft at the edge of the snow-covered meadow-a cleft that points eastward. The weight of the blade on the shoulder straps reminds him that he is, for now, a guard of sorts, with a horse that will carry him eastward faster than his legs will. He eases up closer to the mercenary. "Tell me about Gallos . . . whatever you can."
Hylin snorts, then half-smiles. "We're headed for Fenard, named after, I'm told, the great King Fenardre. The storytellers claim he was the one who beat back the Legions of the West. And his was the first kingdom that didn't swallow the tyranny of the Legend. Fenard sits on a high plain and has two walls. The lower wall is more than ten times the height of a man ..."
XXII
THE COACH RUMBLES northward along the main post road from Bleyans, through Suthya, northward to the port of Rulyarth.
Megaera looks down at the white leather case that contains the mirror, then shakes her head. Why is it that using the mirror now leaves her stomach twisting? Can it have something to do with the lifelink? She tries to call up the familiar sense of the whiteness. Her wrists tingle, even though the iron bracelets are gone.
So far, she has managed to send her soul out after the silver-haired target three times-once to even touch his mind, the evening before, from her inn to his inn. Her lips tighten. "Men-even the most innocent-are violent beasts, even in their thoughts."
Her eyes fix on her sleeves, long enough to cover the scarred wrists, but her eyes fail to focus, and she feels lightheaded. Is it her imagination? Is there a reason why, at times, her head spins like the winds she can sense but cannot touch?
"No! Why him and not me?"
"Are you all right, my lady?" The guard leans down and peers through the open coach window.
"The Legend be damned if I know ..." Megaera glares at the guard. Her eyes spark with a white flame even as her head begins to ache.
The guard's visage jerks back, vanishing from Megaera's sight, just before a line of fire flares through the window.
Megaera purses her lips and listens to the driver and the guard, straining to hear their low voices above the rumble and the rattle of the coach.
"... careful there . . . Tyrant warned you ..."
"... be damned glad when we get to Rulyarth . . . damned glad."
"Look at it this way, mate. Anyone tries to stop us, and look what they'd get! Ha!"
"... sooner she's headed east where she belongs, the happier-"
"Relax. Just be glad you're not after her boyfriend. He's worse, they say."
"He's not my boyfriend!" The words hiss through Mega-era's teeth and rattle in her mind. "Damn you, sister ..." But the tears roll from the corners of her eyes as she recalls two girls stalking each other in a courtyard. Then it had been in play.
XXIII
THE ECHO OF the hooves resounds from the stone walls at Creslin, even as he can see ahead to where the canyon widens and the shadows of the hills rise beyond the last stone ramparts of the Westhorns.
Ahead of him, Hylin touches the hilt of the sword at his belt, leaning forward as if straining to hear someone, or something.
Creslin wonders why the mercenary appears so concerned now when they are about to reach the rolling plains of Gallos after nearly three days on winding mountain trails. Still, the man has far more experience than he does. Creslin gathers his senses and spreads himself to the winds, especially to those eddying around the trail where it opens into the brushy valley ahead.
The effort brings beads of sweat to his normally cool forehead, and he sways slightly in the saddle. After a time, however long it takes for the horses to tread another half kay, he straightens.
"Hylin . . ." His voice is raspy, for his throat has dried out. "There are two or three people down there, behind that ridge that faces where we'll leave the protection of the rocks."
Hylin's
Similar Books
