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their friend. Either that, or they ll simply flee from the city and solve our
problem anyway. Ryman lay on a matching sofa of the softest silks and down of
goose. His brother s constant questions began to grate on him.  But I still
believe they will come, he added.  They fought hard and will not flee.
Mycof knew he irritated his twin, but he could not silence his concerns.  Do
you think the& the d warf suspects?
 He is surely too busy with the new plaything we fetched him last night.
Ryman s voice edged with exasperation.  He will think us too exhausted by last
night s hunt to plot against his goals.
 Are you sure?
 Our inquiries were discreet. Only we know the prisoner was the magician from
the circus that rented the warehouse. Surely this other elemental whom the
d warf seeks is also among this troupe. Ryman sat up straighter on his sofa
and looked Mycof in the face. His brother s smooth brow contained a single
wrinkle of worry. Ryman s heart went out to his younger brother. He had not
suspected how deeply this scheme had unsettled his twin. He reached a hand to
the neighboring sofa and touched Mycof s silk sleeve.  This is just like a
game of tai man, he consoled.  Moving pieces hither and yon to our best
advantage. Because of our skilled hunting last night, we must now contend with
another who will share our private Sacrament. Ryman could not keep the
disgust from his voice.
 That is, Mycof offered, refusing to consider this horrible prospect,  if the
thin man survives the ebon stone.
Ryman patted his brother s sleeve.  Yes, that would be nice if he died, but if
we mean to keep yet another from intruding on our nightly hunts, then we must
take matters into our own hands. Ryman leaned back into his couch.  Before
the hunt is called tonight, all in the circus must be dead and disposed of.
The d warf will think his prey have been spooked and run off, and we will
again have the hunt to ourselves.
 As long as the prisoner from last night dies.
Sighing, Ryman closed his eyes.  Even that is being taken care of. Remember
how skilled I am at tai man.
Mycof remained silent. He did not voice his private concern. Just yesterday,
he himself had beat Ryman at tai man.
So might not another?
Sweat ran in rivers and streams across Lord Torwren s naked flesh, a brackish
swamp that stung his eyes and collected in the folds of his skin. In chest and
belly, his two hearts hammered in discord as the ebon stone sphere hovered in
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the air, spinning with furious fires. He wiped brusquely at his eyes and swore
under his breath.
A seeker s work required both strength of will and stubbornness of bone. To
forge an ill guard warrior out of a pure elemental was difficult work.
Torwren, however, knew better than to complain. Being a seeker was far better
than being an ill guard. He, at least, had a measure of free will unlike those
bent to the stone.
Torwren studied his victim.
His prisoner hung in manacles upon the wall. The man s shredded clothes lay in
the mud under his hanging toes. With the first searing touch of the
ebon stone s flames, the spell of sleep had been burned from the man s eyes.
In the prisoner s gaze now, the d warf lord sensed that the man knew what was
happening. The prisoner s silver hair had been singed from his scalp, and his
lips had blistered from the heat. Even now his muscles spasmed and quaked from
the d warf s last assault upon his inner barriers, yet he still stared with a
cool indifference at Lord Torwren. He did not scream; he did not plead for
mercy.
Scratching at his belly, the d warf planned his next attack.
The thin limbs and sallow skin of the prisoner were deceptive. Where he should
be weak, the d warf lord found only strength. The man had a font of inner
fortitude that had nothing to do with the richness of his elemental abilities.
As Torwren worked on him, the flavor and depth of this man s elemental fire
was like a tantalizing prize dangling just out of his reach, but before he
could possess this gift, he must dig free the prisoner s spirit and give it to
the stone where the dark magicks would twist it to his will. Then the magick
would be his to possess, his to forge into the mightiest of ill guard.
J 1 UKM
Torwren frowned at his prisoner. The man confounded him. His stubborn spirit
still refused to burn with the bloodfire. Still, Lord Torwren knew the value
of patience and persistence. A slow drip of water eventually wore through
rock, and the power at his fingertips was much stronger than mere water.
Yet, to be so close to his centuries-long dream&
He pictured the Try sil and let his thoughts wander to what he could do once
he retrieved the lost
treasure of his ancestors. He shook his head. He must cast aside these stray
thoughts, especially as he worked so intimately with the ebon stone talisman.
He must not raise the attention of the Dark Lord.
He firmed his thoughts as he reached once again for the stone.
 Wh-who are you? the prisoner mumbled, his cracked and blistered tongue
forming words with difficulty.
The voice stopped Torwren s fingers. Few of his subjects were ever capable of
speech after the initial testing. Intrigued, he lowered his palms away from
the sphere. Perhaps a bit of conversation might reveal a weakness in this
prisoner. Besides, he had the time, and seldom did he come upon the pleasure
of a true adversary.
He bowed his head slightly in greeting toward the shackled man.  I am Lord
Torwren, he said with a wave of a wrinkled hand.  And I don t believe I ve
had the pleasure of your introduction.
Even though his scalp still curled with tendrils of smoke, the man s eyes were
cool.  Lord Meric, he said, his voice stronger, proud.  Of the House of the
Morning Star.
 Hmm& of noble birth, Torwren grinned, his thick lips revealing the wide [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]