Read Online Falconfar 03-Falconfar by Ed Greenwood - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ed Greenwood
Tags: Falconfar
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long and dazed time during which the ceiling ceased to cascade past her eyes. "I am Taeauna."
Her face was wet with tears. They dripped from her as she sat up, probing with her fingers at a stinging pain just above her chin. Her fingertips came away laced with blood; she'd bitten through her own lower lip.
Hunh. Small wonder, by the Falcon. The mind of Lorontar had been a dark and terrible thing, and it had been riding hers long enough to leave deep wounds. Even before she'd won herself deeper ones, lashing out at it.
She shuddered at the memory of that awful, awful...
Taeauna found herself up and staggering across the room, feeling ill and wanting just to get away.
She slammed into a wall and clung to it, tugging at it and then caressing it as if it had been the comforting chest of a lover, leaning her cheek against it and gasping out her pain and confusion and the urge to empty her guts...
This was the bedchamber where she'd lain with Malraun, in Darswords, yes. Malraun who was now... no more, his mind blown out like a candle, his body taken over by Lorontar.
Lorontar who was gone, too, but not dead. Somehow she knew that, just as she knew she was Taeauna. Oh, there were shadows in the corners of her mind that were still Lorontar—enough to tell her he yet lived, and enough not to let her forget the cold truth that he could reclaim her mind and body at will, that she was like a child with a knife to his darkly triumphant host of leering, battle-ready warriors—but for now, she was Taeauna.
Free of Malraun's thralldom forever. And for now, free of Lorontar's far deeper and mightier mind-slavery. For now.
Though she had never left the twisted, sweat-drenched tangle of the bed behind her, for a few fierce moments she had stood on the topmost floor of riven Malragard under the open sky, with greatfangs wheeling across it like gigantic bats above her, and Rod Everlar—kind, bumbling, good-hearted Rod Everlar, the only hope Falconfar still had, but little more skilled than a child, for all the fury of his resolve and the might of his Shaping, when he could manage to Shape—fleeing like a terrified rabbit from the lightning-hurling triumph of Malraun. She had seen Malraun seized, hollowed out and enslaved by Lorontar.
The true Lord Archwizard of Falconfar, a mage stronger than any she'd ever felt before, who lived beyond death in a horrible cold, malicious patience... who'd been awaiting Rod Everlar's coming, luring him with spell-spun dream visions.
And with her.
She, Taeauna, had brought Rod here to Falconfar, and Lorontar had made her do it. He'd been at work on her for season after season, twelve winters and more—probably her whole life— without her knowing it.
For all she knew, he'd been at work in the minds of all the Aumrarr, perhaps even seeing to who they bred with, to fashion them into his unwitting tools—ever better tools—to turn up Shapers as miners turn up gems amid rocks. To find Shapers, and bring them to him.
So Lorontar could use them to reshape Falconfar to what he wanted it to be, and in time to come leave undeath for full life again.
Taeauna blinked, turning away from the wall to find herself panting, knuckles at her mouth. Now how had she known that?
He hadn't managed it, though. Yet.
He was still stealing the bodies of others, burning out their minds and riding their bodies until death came for them or he tired of them. Or a better body came within reach.
What body was he in right now? Malraun's—or had something better happened along?
Taeauna stared down at the bed, forever empty of the cruel wizard who'd forced her upon it—then shook herself to put such thoughts behind her, and strode away.
Her armor was a tangle of straps and plates, in the corner where she'd so hastily torn it off under his mind-goading, to bare herself to him. She plucked up the shiny-worn, smooth, sweat-soaked leather jack she wore beneath its plates, and pulled it on.
The straps still needed mending,
Her face was wet with tears. They dripped from her as she sat up, probing with her fingers at a stinging pain just above her chin. Her fingertips came away laced with blood; she'd bitten through her own lower lip.
Hunh. Small wonder, by the Falcon. The mind of Lorontar had been a dark and terrible thing, and it had been riding hers long enough to leave deep wounds. Even before she'd won herself deeper ones, lashing out at it.
She shuddered at the memory of that awful, awful...
Taeauna found herself up and staggering across the room, feeling ill and wanting just to get away.
She slammed into a wall and clung to it, tugging at it and then caressing it as if it had been the comforting chest of a lover, leaning her cheek against it and gasping out her pain and confusion and the urge to empty her guts...
This was the bedchamber where she'd lain with Malraun, in Darswords, yes. Malraun who was now... no more, his mind blown out like a candle, his body taken over by Lorontar.
Lorontar who was gone, too, but not dead. Somehow she knew that, just as she knew she was Taeauna. Oh, there were shadows in the corners of her mind that were still Lorontar—enough to tell her he yet lived, and enough not to let her forget the cold truth that he could reclaim her mind and body at will, that she was like a child with a knife to his darkly triumphant host of leering, battle-ready warriors—but for now, she was Taeauna.
Free of Malraun's thralldom forever. And for now, free of Lorontar's far deeper and mightier mind-slavery. For now.
Though she had never left the twisted, sweat-drenched tangle of the bed behind her, for a few fierce moments she had stood on the topmost floor of riven Malragard under the open sky, with greatfangs wheeling across it like gigantic bats above her, and Rod Everlar—kind, bumbling, good-hearted Rod Everlar, the only hope Falconfar still had, but little more skilled than a child, for all the fury of his resolve and the might of his Shaping, when he could manage to Shape—fleeing like a terrified rabbit from the lightning-hurling triumph of Malraun. She had seen Malraun seized, hollowed out and enslaved by Lorontar.
The true Lord Archwizard of Falconfar, a mage stronger than any she'd ever felt before, who lived beyond death in a horrible cold, malicious patience... who'd been awaiting Rod Everlar's coming, luring him with spell-spun dream visions.
And with her.
She, Taeauna, had brought Rod here to Falconfar, and Lorontar had made her do it. He'd been at work on her for season after season, twelve winters and more—probably her whole life— without her knowing it.
For all she knew, he'd been at work in the minds of all the Aumrarr, perhaps even seeing to who they bred with, to fashion them into his unwitting tools—ever better tools—to turn up Shapers as miners turn up gems amid rocks. To find Shapers, and bring them to him.
So Lorontar could use them to reshape Falconfar to what he wanted it to be, and in time to come leave undeath for full life again.
Taeauna blinked, turning away from the wall to find herself panting, knuckles at her mouth. Now how had she known that?
He hadn't managed it, though. Yet.
He was still stealing the bodies of others, burning out their minds and riding their bodies until death came for them or he tired of them. Or a better body came within reach.
What body was he in right now? Malraun's—or had something better happened along?
Taeauna stared down at the bed, forever empty of the cruel wizard who'd forced her upon it—then shook herself to put such thoughts behind her, and strode away.
Her armor was a tangle of straps and plates, in the corner where she'd so hastily torn it off under his mind-goading, to bare herself to him. She plucked up the shiny-worn, smooth, sweat-soaked leather jack she wore beneath its plates, and pulled it on.
The straps still needed mending,
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