Read Online Death of a Darklord by Laurell K. Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurell K. Hamilton
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shadow, they gleamed. They seemed to merely reflect the glow of the lantern, but Elaine knew better. His eyes shone with sparks of blue and emerald, the color of no honest flame.
When his eyes were safely shadowed, and that disturbing light quenched from her sight, he spoke. “Now, Elaine, tell me what you see.”
She released a long breath that wavered and fogged near her face. It was so cold. Her body trembled in the warm shell of her cloak. Why was she suddenly so cold?
“Elaine, your magic seeks to control you. You must control it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You must learn, or perish. There is no other choice.”
“Why am I so cold?”
“Because it’s the bloody middle of winter,” Tereza said.
Gersalius held up a hand. “No interruptions.” Neither he nor Elaine looked to see what the woman thought of such an abrupt order.
“Your magic takes shape from two things, outside forces, like the fire or light of your visions, and your own body. It is trying to feed on the warmth of your flesh. Don’t let it.”
“I don’t understand.” The cold was growing worse. It was not the winter air. The cold was coming from inside her. Shecould feel it like an icy wind through her belly.
“Can you find the source of the cold?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Explore it, Elaine. Tell me what it feels like.”
She tried. She reached for the cold with something like a hand, with something that traced the cold wind back, back, deep inside her, farther and deeper than her frail body was wide. There, at what felt like the cold, dark center of her being, was something like a cave. She had no words for what it was, but she was human and needed words. So it became a cave, and with the word, the thought: It was a cave. A cavern of ice that had been built one crystalline layer atop another until it was like a great mirrored room. Each facet of ice glinted with reflected light. But there was no light. All was darkness.
No, there was light, but it was not reflected. It was in the ice, a flickering light that ran through the crystals like a fish through swift water. She turned and, with something other than eyes, saw blue and violet, purple, the liquid pink of sunset, and somehow it was Elaine. It was her power, as much hers as her own face.
“It is you, Elaine, your power, but you have let it run wild. It has built its own home, found its own way to freedom like water eating through the ground. It has chosen cold as its home, its brick. Heat is its mortar. There is nothing wrong with using fire, light as a catalyst for magic, but you must understand what you do, and why. You must reach for the flame to fuel your magic, not have the magic use your hand to feed it. Do you understand?”
She could still feel her body standing in the wind-bitten cold, but it was not as immediate, as important as that darting light inside the ice.
“Elaine, answer me.”
There the light had stopped. She could almost reach it.
“Elaine!” The voice cut across her mind like a whip. She jerked and staggered. She was suddenly staring at the wizard’s upturned face. The ice and flickering light inside was gone. She stood swaying in the winter night, frightened, but no longer unnaturally cold.
“Your power has been too long left to its own devices, Elaine. It is a destructive thing now, a hungry untamed child left too long in the dark. It has made its own world. It will take a long time to reclaim it completely. But it can be done, for tonight you must feed it, consciously.”
“How?”
“Reach for the fire, Elaine, or reach for some reflected light. Reach for whatever would send you visions.”
She extended a hand. The air was bitter against her bare skin.
The lantern flickered in a sudden gust of wind. Snow swirled, sparkling like silver dust, in the light. She felt the tug of a vision, a need to hold the light. But it wasn’t just a vision; it was her magic, and it needed to be fed.
Her hand slowly turned, palm upward. The
When his eyes were safely shadowed, and that disturbing light quenched from her sight, he spoke. “Now, Elaine, tell me what you see.”
She released a long breath that wavered and fogged near her face. It was so cold. Her body trembled in the warm shell of her cloak. Why was she suddenly so cold?
“Elaine, your magic seeks to control you. You must control it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You must learn, or perish. There is no other choice.”
“Why am I so cold?”
“Because it’s the bloody middle of winter,” Tereza said.
Gersalius held up a hand. “No interruptions.” Neither he nor Elaine looked to see what the woman thought of such an abrupt order.
“Your magic takes shape from two things, outside forces, like the fire or light of your visions, and your own body. It is trying to feed on the warmth of your flesh. Don’t let it.”
“I don’t understand.” The cold was growing worse. It was not the winter air. The cold was coming from inside her. Shecould feel it like an icy wind through her belly.
“Can you find the source of the cold?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Explore it, Elaine. Tell me what it feels like.”
She tried. She reached for the cold with something like a hand, with something that traced the cold wind back, back, deep inside her, farther and deeper than her frail body was wide. There, at what felt like the cold, dark center of her being, was something like a cave. She had no words for what it was, but she was human and needed words. So it became a cave, and with the word, the thought: It was a cave. A cavern of ice that had been built one crystalline layer atop another until it was like a great mirrored room. Each facet of ice glinted with reflected light. But there was no light. All was darkness.
No, there was light, but it was not reflected. It was in the ice, a flickering light that ran through the crystals like a fish through swift water. She turned and, with something other than eyes, saw blue and violet, purple, the liquid pink of sunset, and somehow it was Elaine. It was her power, as much hers as her own face.
“It is you, Elaine, your power, but you have let it run wild. It has built its own home, found its own way to freedom like water eating through the ground. It has chosen cold as its home, its brick. Heat is its mortar. There is nothing wrong with using fire, light as a catalyst for magic, but you must understand what you do, and why. You must reach for the flame to fuel your magic, not have the magic use your hand to feed it. Do you understand?”
She could still feel her body standing in the wind-bitten cold, but it was not as immediate, as important as that darting light inside the ice.
“Elaine, answer me.”
There the light had stopped. She could almost reach it.
“Elaine!” The voice cut across her mind like a whip. She jerked and staggered. She was suddenly staring at the wizard’s upturned face. The ice and flickering light inside was gone. She stood swaying in the winter night, frightened, but no longer unnaturally cold.
“Your power has been too long left to its own devices, Elaine. It is a destructive thing now, a hungry untamed child left too long in the dark. It has made its own world. It will take a long time to reclaim it completely. But it can be done, for tonight you must feed it, consciously.”
“How?”
“Reach for the fire, Elaine, or reach for some reflected light. Reach for whatever would send you visions.”
She extended a hand. The air was bitter against her bare skin.
The lantern flickered in a sudden gust of wind. Snow swirled, sparkling like silver dust, in the light. She felt the tug of a vision, a need to hold the light. But it wasn’t just a vision; it was her magic, and it needed to be fed.
Her hand slowly turned, palm upward. The
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