[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
missing any of his people lately the shepherd picked off while guarding the
flocks, the child who had wandered too far from his mother, the scout who had
never come home the remains were probably in this cave.
Marit hadn't seen the dragon leave. And surely she could have heard it if it
were still inside. Perhaps the cavern extended far beneath the hills. Perhaps
the dragon had a back way out. Perhaps it didn't know they were here. Perhaps
the dragon's injury was worse than Marit had thought. Perhaps the wounded
creature had crawled far back in its lair to sleep. Perhaps . . . perhaps . .
.
Few events in Marit's life had ever worked to her advantage. She always made
the wrong decision, ended up in the wrong place, did or said the wrong thing.
She had made the mistake of staying with Haplo; then she had made the mistake
of leaving him. She had made the mistake of abandoning their child. She had
made the mistake of trusting Xar. Finding Haplo again, she had made the
mistake of loving him again, only to lose him again.
Surely, now, something in her life must go right! Surely, she was owed this
much!
For the dragon to be asleep.
She asked only for the dragon to be asleep.
The two slipped, wary and silent, inside the cave.
Marit's runes illuminated the cavern. The entrance was not very wide or
high the dragon must have a tight fit to squeeze inside, as was evidenced by a
crust-like coating of glittering red scales lining the top and sides of the
Page 14
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
rock.
The entry tunnel opened, expanding upward and outward to form a large, roughly
circular room. Marit's bluish-red rune-light reflected off damp walls, lit
most of the chamber except the top which disappeared into darkness and an
opening in the very back. She drew Hugh's attention to that opening. It was
big enough for the dragon to use. And apparently, that was what it had done,
because the chamber in which they stood was empty.
Empty, except for the dragon's gruesome trophies.
Corpses in various states of decomposition hung from chains on the walls. Men
and women and children all having obviously died in pain and torment. Hugh the
Hand, who had lived with death, seen it in all its forms during his life, was
sickened. He doubled over and retched.
The sheer brutality, the wanton cruelty overwhelmed even Marit. The horror of
it and the attendant rage at the creature that could so callously commit such
heinous acts combined to nearly rob her of her senses. The cavern began to
swim in her sight. She was lightheaded, dizzy.
Afraid she was about to pass out, she lurched forward, hoping movement would
stir her blood.
"Alfred!" Hugh wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He pointed.
Marit peered through the rune-lit darkness, found Alfred. She concentrated on
him, banished everything else from her mind, and felt better. He was alive,
though just barely, by the looks of him.
"Go to him," Hugh said, his voice harsh from vomiting. "Ill keep watch." He
held the Cursed Blade, drawn and ready. It had begun to glow with an ugly,
greenish light.
Marit hurried to Alfred's side.
Like the countless other victims, the Sartan hung from chains. His wrists were
manacled to the wall above his head. His feet dangled near the floor, the toes
barely touching. His head was bowed down. He might have been dead but for the
sound of rasping breath which Hugh had heard outside the cavern. His gasping
breaths were much louder in here.
Marit touched him as gently as she could, hoping to rouse him without
frightening him. But at the brush of her fingers against his cheek, Alfred
moaned, his body convulsed, his heels clattered against the rock wall.
Marit clapped her hand over his mouth, forced his head up, made him look at
her. She dared not say anything aloud, and a whisper would probably mean
little to him in his state.
He stared at her with wild, bulging eyes in which there was no recognition,
only fear and pain. He struggled instinctively against her, but he was far too
weak to break free. His clothes were soaked with blood. Blood spread in pools
beneath his feet, yet his flesh as far as Marit could tell was whole and
undamaged.
The dragon had slashed and torn his flesh, then healed him back up. Probably
many times. Even the broken arm had been healed. But the true damage was in
the mind. Alfred was very far gone.
"Hugh!" Marit had to risk calling, and though it was no more than a loud
whisper, the name echoed eerily through the cavern. She flinched, did not dare
repeat it.
Hugh edged his way toward her, never taking his eyes from the back of the
cave. "I thought I heard something move inside there. Better make this quick."
Just exactly what she couldn't do!
"If I don't heal him," she said softly, "he'll never make it out of the cave
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]