Read Online Citadels of the Lost by Tracy Hickman - Free Book Online
Authors: Tracy Hickman
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been the front of a small shopâa fish shop according to the dwarf. Now the roaring cascade and the rain filled her ears with noise. The darkness was complete as they had forgone any fire that night out of fear of what it might attract and from the more basic fact that they could not find anything to burn in the immediate halls, rooms and warrens of the stone-cliff buildings. The only illumination they were afforded was the lightning of the storm, which, in its fury, was nearly constant, its flashes piercing the darkness of the doorway, followed by the rumble and the crash of thunder. It was a tumultuous night, but the dwarf was snoring loudly against the far wall and everyone except herself and Ethis, who now standing guard just outside the entrance, had managed to make themselves comfortable enough for rest.
Mala watched Drakis sleep, catching images of him in the flashes of light through the door, her own thoughts as tumultuous as the storm outside.
Iâm falling through pain long remembered . . .
He is smiling with his fangs.
Longing and lusting . . .
Never entrusting . . .
Malaâs mind had refused once again to quiet into the longed-for oblivion of sleep. Her thoughts spun unbidden through her mind, pounding like the thunder, tumbling in a roiling cascade of pain, hope, hate, longing, and fear. A waterfall of memories refused to retreat, thundering through her consciousness in a wild, uncontrolled torrent.
Elven house gardens were flowering . . .
Blood red the petals of pain.
Come and forget them.
Come to forgive them . . .
Forgiveness was not in her, and she devoutly wished the voices would go away and leave her alone. The elves had put them in her head, she was sure. Voices to call her back home to them at any cost. Voices that called her to a bliss-filled forgetfulness that she longed to be a part of once again. She wished everyone would go away and take her shame and her loathing with them.
Mala sat only a few feet from Drakis and hated him for who she had become.
She remembered those days in the Timuran House where she pleasantly tended the gardens and kept the house spotless as much for her own pleasure as that of her overseers and the House Mistress. Her hands moving through the warm earth while she planted flowers was a joy to her. She remembered the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchens in the back of the subatria. She remembered, too, the smiles she had shared with Drakis and the desires they felt; how she had thrilled at his brushing touches and all the dreams, day and night, she had involving both of them together.
But then he had returned from the War for the Ninth Dwarven Throne, and she was forced to remember everything else. He had taken her from her lovely, safe garden and she hated him for that . . . and she loved him for it, too.
She tried to remember again that moment when she had awakened to all her memories in that fallen garden so far away. It was difficult to consider, for her mind only allowed her glimpses of understanding. She recalled her mind thrown into chaos, unable to reconcile one memory with another as the continuity of her ordered life unraveled in a single moment. She was in a freefall of thoughts, the cord of her mind unraveling until she slammed into a place in her past experience that had been specifically planted there for just such an eventuality. She saw it, embraced it as she had been trained to do so many years before, and a new purpose came into her mind.
This memory was a dark one and impenetrable by her conscious thought. It called her to do anything, say anything that would ensure the discovery and recovery of her fellow slaves should the spells of the Devotions be broken. It was not a thing planted there by the Aether since that would have been unraveled, too, should the magic fail. This was far more direct, far less subtle and far older than the Devotions. This was conditioned though through unspeakable means that would bend the
Mala watched Drakis sleep, catching images of him in the flashes of light through the door, her own thoughts as tumultuous as the storm outside.
Iâm falling through pain long remembered . . .
He is smiling with his fangs.
Longing and lusting . . .
Never entrusting . . .
Malaâs mind had refused once again to quiet into the longed-for oblivion of sleep. Her thoughts spun unbidden through her mind, pounding like the thunder, tumbling in a roiling cascade of pain, hope, hate, longing, and fear. A waterfall of memories refused to retreat, thundering through her consciousness in a wild, uncontrolled torrent.
Elven house gardens were flowering . . .
Blood red the petals of pain.
Come and forget them.
Come to forgive them . . .
Forgiveness was not in her, and she devoutly wished the voices would go away and leave her alone. The elves had put them in her head, she was sure. Voices to call her back home to them at any cost. Voices that called her to a bliss-filled forgetfulness that she longed to be a part of once again. She wished everyone would go away and take her shame and her loathing with them.
Mala sat only a few feet from Drakis and hated him for who she had become.
She remembered those days in the Timuran House where she pleasantly tended the gardens and kept the house spotless as much for her own pleasure as that of her overseers and the House Mistress. Her hands moving through the warm earth while she planted flowers was a joy to her. She remembered the smell of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchens in the back of the subatria. She remembered, too, the smiles she had shared with Drakis and the desires they felt; how she had thrilled at his brushing touches and all the dreams, day and night, she had involving both of them together.
But then he had returned from the War for the Ninth Dwarven Throne, and she was forced to remember everything else. He had taken her from her lovely, safe garden and she hated him for that . . . and she loved him for it, too.
She tried to remember again that moment when she had awakened to all her memories in that fallen garden so far away. It was difficult to consider, for her mind only allowed her glimpses of understanding. She recalled her mind thrown into chaos, unable to reconcile one memory with another as the continuity of her ordered life unraveled in a single moment. She was in a freefall of thoughts, the cord of her mind unraveling until she slammed into a place in her past experience that had been specifically planted there for just such an eventuality. She saw it, embraced it as she had been trained to do so many years before, and a new purpose came into her mind.
This memory was a dark one and impenetrable by her conscious thought. It called her to do anything, say anything that would ensure the discovery and recovery of her fellow slaves should the spells of the Devotions be broken. It was not a thing planted there by the Aether since that would have been unraveled, too, should the magic fail. This was far more direct, far less subtle and far older than the Devotions. This was conditioned though through unspeakable means that would bend the
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