Read Online A Warrior of Dreams by Richard Parks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard Parks
Ads: Link
could name, then woke up enough to remember.
I fell asleep. Dyaros never came, damn him . So why did she feel so relieved?
She threw on a robe, scurried to the door and opened it. Alyssa stood by Ter's door, rapping. Already other doors were opening along the hall. Ter opened the door and Alyssa grabbed his arm and dragged him out into the hallway. Alyssa spotted Joslyn, smiled and beckoned her to follow as she turned and ran down the hall toward the far stairwell. Joslyn yawned and started after them.
"What's this about?"
Pari, trotting beside her, just shrugged. Ter and Alyssa went down the stairs two at a time. Joslyn didn't catch up with them until they reached the bottom and stepped out into the morning light in the central courtyard.
"What is it?" Joslyn demanded. Alyssa pointed.
There was a scaffolding in the center of the courtyard, empty since Joslyn first came into the Temple. It wasn't empty now.
"A thief," Alyssa said. "He was caught in the Temple last night."
"Thief..." Joslyn didn't say anything else.
"I wonder how he got in," Pari said. "Did he confess anything?"
Joslyn fought a rising tide of blackness. Yes. Did he ?
"I heard he wasn't taken alive," Alyssa said.
"Why hang him, then?" Ter wanted to know.
Pari shrugged. "That's what you do with thieves."
They all watched for a while. Then, one by one, the others got bored and wandered back into the Temple. Joslyn looked at Dyaros's slowly turning body longer than she wanted to, as long as she dared to, and then followed the others out of the sunlight.
Chapter 4 — Dark Waters
Ly Ossia lay across the foot of the White Mountains like the pieces of a shattered jar. That was not to say there was no pattern at all — the older buildings spiraled away from the center like the arms of a pinwheel, and, rough and massive though they were, they kept a harmony of line and form that made them parts of the whole. The rest of the city was everything sudden wealth could build and grandiose competition spawn. It was a mess.
Ghost sat on a high tor to the west, studying the city with the vague interest of a schoolboy kept too long on the same subject. He wore the brown garb of a traveling ascetic; it was the only clothing he owned, as far as he knew. He didn't feel like an ascetic — there was no burning faith at the core of him, just a slight boredom. He cocked his head from side to side as if new perspectives might succeed where study failed. Finally he gave a deep sigh and leaned back against a cold hard rock.
Nothing. Ly Ossia meant nothing to him.
Ghost knew that wasn't right. If the help he sought wasn't here, then there was a very good chance it didn't exist, and the meaning of that was too terrible to consider. And still the city evoked nothing in him. Not fear, not anger, and especially not hope. Even its profound ugliness was an abstraction, evoking none of the emotion that the words 'beauty' and its dark twin bore by right. How long since his Nightsoul disappeared? How long since any such emotion was more than a memory? One year? Two?
Nothingness will smother me if I let it. I have to try again .
Ghost tried again. The sight of it was failing him, so he tried the words of it — Ly Ossia. Old words, perhaps dating back to the Aversan Hegemony, though anything said or noted about that Golden Age was pure speculation. 'Ly' just meant a place of safety, some natural defense that could be put to use — the White Mountains, in this case, guarding the Northern and Western reaches of the city. The Southern Sea in the case of Ly Manes and Ly Alasten.
He warmed to the mental search, like any scholar loose in the cubbies of a vast unknown library. The memories never seemed to belong to him but, when he looked hard enough, they usually opened to him like the dusty scrolls they were. All except his name, of course. That scroll did not open.
Off the subject, Lad. Back to it .
That rough, quiet voice again, one he'd heard before. Also a memory
I fell asleep. Dyaros never came, damn him . So why did she feel so relieved?
She threw on a robe, scurried to the door and opened it. Alyssa stood by Ter's door, rapping. Already other doors were opening along the hall. Ter opened the door and Alyssa grabbed his arm and dragged him out into the hallway. Alyssa spotted Joslyn, smiled and beckoned her to follow as she turned and ran down the hall toward the far stairwell. Joslyn yawned and started after them.
"What's this about?"
Pari, trotting beside her, just shrugged. Ter and Alyssa went down the stairs two at a time. Joslyn didn't catch up with them until they reached the bottom and stepped out into the morning light in the central courtyard.
"What is it?" Joslyn demanded. Alyssa pointed.
There was a scaffolding in the center of the courtyard, empty since Joslyn first came into the Temple. It wasn't empty now.
"A thief," Alyssa said. "He was caught in the Temple last night."
"Thief..." Joslyn didn't say anything else.
"I wonder how he got in," Pari said. "Did he confess anything?"
Joslyn fought a rising tide of blackness. Yes. Did he ?
"I heard he wasn't taken alive," Alyssa said.
"Why hang him, then?" Ter wanted to know.
Pari shrugged. "That's what you do with thieves."
They all watched for a while. Then, one by one, the others got bored and wandered back into the Temple. Joslyn looked at Dyaros's slowly turning body longer than she wanted to, as long as she dared to, and then followed the others out of the sunlight.
Chapter 4 — Dark Waters
Ly Ossia lay across the foot of the White Mountains like the pieces of a shattered jar. That was not to say there was no pattern at all — the older buildings spiraled away from the center like the arms of a pinwheel, and, rough and massive though they were, they kept a harmony of line and form that made them parts of the whole. The rest of the city was everything sudden wealth could build and grandiose competition spawn. It was a mess.
Ghost sat on a high tor to the west, studying the city with the vague interest of a schoolboy kept too long on the same subject. He wore the brown garb of a traveling ascetic; it was the only clothing he owned, as far as he knew. He didn't feel like an ascetic — there was no burning faith at the core of him, just a slight boredom. He cocked his head from side to side as if new perspectives might succeed where study failed. Finally he gave a deep sigh and leaned back against a cold hard rock.
Nothing. Ly Ossia meant nothing to him.
Ghost knew that wasn't right. If the help he sought wasn't here, then there was a very good chance it didn't exist, and the meaning of that was too terrible to consider. And still the city evoked nothing in him. Not fear, not anger, and especially not hope. Even its profound ugliness was an abstraction, evoking none of the emotion that the words 'beauty' and its dark twin bore by right. How long since his Nightsoul disappeared? How long since any such emotion was more than a memory? One year? Two?
Nothingness will smother me if I let it. I have to try again .
Ghost tried again. The sight of it was failing him, so he tried the words of it — Ly Ossia. Old words, perhaps dating back to the Aversan Hegemony, though anything said or noted about that Golden Age was pure speculation. 'Ly' just meant a place of safety, some natural defense that could be put to use — the White Mountains, in this case, guarding the Northern and Western reaches of the city. The Southern Sea in the case of Ly Manes and Ly Alasten.
He warmed to the mental search, like any scholar loose in the cubbies of a vast unknown library. The memories never seemed to belong to him but, when he looked hard enough, they usually opened to him like the dusty scrolls they were. All except his name, of course. That scroll did not open.
Off the subject, Lad. Back to it .
That rough, quiet voice again, one he'd heard before. Also a memory
Similar Books
