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- James Blish Seedling Stars 1 Seeding Program
- James Doohan Flight Engineer Volume 1 The Rising
- James Axler Deathlands 00 Encounter
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proceeded unimpeded through the melee. No soldier dared come within an arm s
length of his robed figure. As he passed the three doorways that led to the
soldiers sleeping quarters, he noted the rows of empty cots. All were on
duty. On this morning, the streets bristled with armor and blade.
Suddenly a familiar voice called out from behind him. Dismarum! Hold up, old
man! It was
Rockingham.
Dismarum swung to face the man. Rockingham had changed out of his singed
riding clothes and now wore the colors of the garrison, red and black. His
polished black boots climbed to his knees, and his red overcoat was festooned
with brass hooks and buttons. He had oiled his mustache and finally washed the
soot from his face, but as he approached across the stone floor, Dismarum s
keen nose still smelled the smoke on him.
Rockingham stopped in front of the seer. We may have too many patrols out,
he said.
How so? Dismarum asked in irritation, his nerves still jangled by the
skal tum.
With this much activity, we might spook the boy and girl away from town.
Rockingham pointed out the door. You can t walk two steps without bumping an
armsman. I d be spooked myself to enter this town.
The seer nodded and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps the foolish man was right. If he
weren t so exhausted, he might have realized the same. What do you propose?
Pull the soldiers back. I ve spread the word. The people are inflamed.
They ll do the hunting for us.
Pismarum leaned hard on his staff. She mustn t slip our snare.
If she shows her nose in town, she ll be nabbed. The fire and the talk of
demons have the townsfolk roused. Every street is watched by a hundred eyes.
Then no more hunting. Dismarum swung away. We ll wait for her to come to
us. As he limped across the flagstone, he pictured the skal tum crouched in
its warren of cells, like a starved cur awaiting its bone.
To think of betraying its lust and the master it served was a madman s folly.
But Dismarum had waited for so long.
From above the tree line, Elena spied the red roof of the town s mill ahead.
By now, the fire had been left far behind, though the smoke still chased her
and her brother across the morning sky. The sight of the pitched roof gave
renewed vigor to Elena s steps. She caught up with Joach, dragging a
protesting Mist by her lead.
Almost there, Joach said.
What if Aunt Fila s not at the bakery?
She always is, El. Don t worry.
The two of them had already decided to seek out their widowed aunt, who owned
and operated
Winterfell s bakery. Their mother s sister was a stern woman with a backbone
of iron. She would know what to make of the previous night s horrors.
As Elena followed her brother around a bend in the creek, the mill came fully
into view. Its redbrick exterior and narrow windows were a comforting sight.
She often ran errands here for her mother, collecting a bag of flour or
bartering for corn-meal. Its large paddle wheel turned slowly in the deep
silver current as the creek plummeted down a short wash. Just beyond the mill
stood the Millbend Bridge, a stone span that forded the creek and connected
the town road to the wagon ruts that led up into the sparsely populated
highlands.
Joach held up a hand to stop Elena from proceeding out from under the canopy
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of the trees. Let me see if anyone s at the mill. You stay hidden.
Elena nodded and pushed Mist s nose to back her several steps. The mare shook
her head in protest; a hoof stomped the ground. Elena knew the horse itched to
get out from under the branches and reach the meadow that still grew green
beyond the trees. Shh, sweet one. Elena scratched Mist behind an ear.
Her whispered consolations settled the anxious horse, but not herself.
She watched Joach steal across the open expanse to the mill s door. He tried
the iron latch. She saw him tug at it. It was locked. He climbed atop a flour
barrel and peered through one of the windows. Then he hopped off. scratched
his head, and disappeared around a corner.
Elena hated seeing the last member of her family vanish from sight. What if he
never returned? What if she was left alone? Pictures of life without any
family bloomed in her head. What if she was the last
Morin stal alive in the valley? She clutched her arms around her chest,
holding her breath.
As she waited, a kak ora bird sang from a nearby branch, a lonely song. The
scent of dewflowers, open only during the first rays of the sun, perfumed the
morning, strong enough to penetrate even the smoky pall. As she watched for
Joach s return, she saw a rabbit burst from hiding in the prairie grass and
bound toward the trees. Disturbed by its passage, a flight of butterflies blew
into the air. It was as if summer held eternal sway in this little meadow.
She sighed. As horrible as the night had been, she had somehow expected the
land to be wildly changed once the sun rose: trees twisted, animals corrupted.
But valley life continued undisturbed, like any other morning. Strangely, she
found this reassuring.
Life continued and so could she.
Movement near the mill caught her eye. Joach reappeared from beyond the mill
and waved her from hiding. Thank you, Sweet Mother! Elena flew forward,
wanting to narrow the distance between them as soon as possible, though Mist
kept grabbing mouthfuls of grass as Elena pulled her on. When she reached her
brother, he shook his head. Empty. Must be out trying to stop the fire.
What if Aunt Fila is out, too? Elena asked as Mist attacked the leaves of a
thrushbush. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]