[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

The old baron had thought the tower sacred. He had allowed no one to disturb
his bard's chambers, despite the man's falling from grace. Soren had no such
constraints. Superstition had held him at bay for a few months after his
father's death, until his curiosity could no longer be denied. The Hart Tower
had been said to hold a treasure trove, to be a repository of man's greatest
riches. It had also been said to be cursed, and thus Soren had devised his
reward to induce another to do the actual opening, if they could but find the
way. A hundred marks had seemed a small price to pay for the ill fortune to
fall on someone else's head.
That someone had been Dain, and if there was a curse, he had not felt- it
until a fortnight ago, when
Ceridwen ab Arawn, most cherished and sought after jewel in all the land, had
inadvertently fallen into his keeping.
Damn the chit, and damn the old man.
He ran his hand over the planks of the door, feeling the pattern of iron rods
pushed into the wood. After a minute, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked
over his shoulder at Erlend. The man knew nothing.
He'd meant no more than the securingofthe crossbar. If the door had been truly
Page 106
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
locked down "tighter'n a drum," it would have taken Dain himself a sennight to
open it back up. That was how long it had taken him to open it the first time.
Since then, he'd not locked the door past the second minor level, and that
only once. The first minor level was adequate for most circumstances. It had
kept Ceridwen in.
"It's him, ye know," Erlend said, making not much sense as usual.
"Who?" Dain asked, only half listening. The third minor level of iron rods was
flush with the oak planks, their exposed ends making the symbol for Venus and
copper within the circular pattern of the lock.
"The pig whose troth was't plighted."
Dain's eyebrows drew together in a deep furrow. The pig whose troth was't
plighted? Erlend's blubbering would soon give him another headache. A quick
visual survey assured him the first and second minor levels, being the Sun and
gold, and Mercury and mercury, respectively, had not been tampered with. The
fourth minor level, the heretical placement of Earth, was& Pig.
His hand stilled on the oak planks. Caradoc had come for the maid. His breath
grew short as he turned his head to look back over his shoulder. Ceridwen had
understood. Her face had paled beyond white to ghostly.
"I I am not ready," she stammered.
His heart beat too quickly in his chest. His thoughts were a tangle. Caradoc
had come for the maid. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form.
"You promised me magic," she told him, blending accusation with her plea.
Magic? He had no magic. He had nothing. Had she not seen through him yet?
A great pounding started on the door, sending hard and heavy vibrations up his
arms. 'Twas the ram he'd expected, a ridiculously short one, given the
available maneuvering room in the stairwell, but one sturdy enough to do
damage.
"Cretins," he hissed, his anger rising out of the morass of his mind and
taking hold of his thoughts. He whirled on Ceridwen with a command. "Take your
clothes off and hide yourself in the bed."
Erlend immediately brightened, a toothless grin forming upon his face.
"Get below, old man," Dain warned, shifting his attention to the lecherous
servant, "or your next breath will be your last."
The ram hit the door again. Hollow echoes sounded through the chamber, curving
around the tower walls and leaving a tinny resonance hanging in the air.
Bastards.
"Move!" he barked. Erlend jumped, but Ceridwen held her ground.
"Let me go," she said.
"No."
"My ankle is near healed. Let me return back through the tunnel and make my
escape."
"To where?" he demanded. "StrataFlorida ? Cara-doc would have you run down
before you could clear the river."
"Then through the woods to Deri. Rhuddlan would keep me."
"For his own purposes, not yours." Foolish girl. Did she trust everyone more
than she did him?
The ram struck home a mighty blow.
"What about your friend, Madron?" Her voice took on a desperate edge. "Her
serving woman liked me well enough. Mayhaps they would hide me until I can get
word to my brother."
"Madron is no friend of mine, or of yours," he snapped. "She was disguised as
the crone, and while you slept, she looked upon you long enough to pronounce
you the perfect bride for the Boar of Balor."
She stared at him, her hands growing limp at her sides, his words taking the
fight out of her.
"The crone? But I remember a woman coming, a special woman. I felt her
Page 107
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
presence in the cottage." Her voice was unsure again. "I& I thought 'twas
someone else."
"There is no one to help you except me." They did not have time for this
debate. "Get yourself into the bed, or I will be done with you."
His threat had the desired effect, and she began stripping off her gown.
He threw off his cloak and reached for the lacings on his gambeson. They were [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

razem.keep.pl