Read Online The Book of Kane by Karl Edward Wagner - Free Book Online Page B

perhaps?” She nodded and Kane rose to pour a cup.
    She accepted it with a slight smile, uncertain of her feelings toward the other. He was so strange—huge and brutal, every inch a machine of destruction, she sensed. Yet he was civil of speech and manner—and far more erudite than any man of her experience, other than those learned fossils and simpering dandies of the court. There were many contradictions embodied in the big stranger, nor could she hazard a guess to his nationality or even his age. He seemed so inhumanly aloof and alone. He gave her the same sort of eerie thrill that some of Evingolis’s strange songs created.
    “You never say another person’s name when you speak to him,” she commented.
    Kane favored her with one of his uncanny, penetrating stares. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t suppose I do.”
    “Breenanin,” she prompted softly.
    “Breenanin.”
    In silence they shared the fire and the minstrel’s song.
    I saw her in winter’s silent cold light
    Clearly, with her warmth upon the sparkle
    Of that magical, crystalline night.
    And love I knew unspoken passed,
    Its timeless warmth, one frozen instant,
    Eternally encased in infinite amber.
    But what I sensed I could not return;
    The instant vanished in that crystalline storm.
    In vain do I call through this dancing myriad
    Of relinquished emotions, frozen fragments of time.
    For the moment has passed, now lost in that swirl—
    Splintered shards of time’s reflection—
    Reflections for the winter of my soul.
    The minstrel’s voice echoed into silence; his fingers stilled the strings of his lute. Quietly be left the hall to the two seated before the fire. In the far comer of the room, a few half-asleep servants rolled dice.
    “Where’d you get him?” broke in Kane.
    Breenanin shifted in her chair. The minstrel’s song had lulled her into an almost trance-like state. “He came to us last summer. Came up from the southlands, I suppose—he never said anything about his past. Sort of wandered about the court in Carrasahl for a while, then attached himself to Father’s patronage. We were glad to got him—others offered him more money than we could. He talks occasionally of some far away places he’s been, and most of his songs no one can understand. Guess he’s just wandering about the world as his fancy suits him.
    “Must be nice to go somewhere new. In Carrasahl we don’t get to travel much. Can’t handle an estate from somewhere far off, Father always says, and travel’s dangerous for anyone to risk. Once we went to Enseljos to see Winston’s coronation, though.”
    They talked of various matters for a while—long periods of mutual silence between their spots of conversation. At length Kane looked over and saw that she slept. He was reluctant to disturb her, but at the same time he knew she should not be left alone in the great hall with death abroad in the night. So he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the wide stairs to her room on the balcony across that end of the hall.
    She stirred in her sleep, but did not awaken. A half-smile was on her thin lips, and her fine teeth were white against her pale skin. She was soft and warm in her fur robe. Kane felt an emotion stir within him as he carried her that he had not experienced in long years. It might have been love, but then he could not remember.
    Returning to the hall, he sat before the fire again. But the spell had been broken. Now he felt strangely restless, sick of brooding over dead memories in the firelight. After another cup of ale, Kane arose, fastened on his sword, and announced to the few remaining servants that he would walk around to see how things went with the others.
    The hallways were long and dark, their silence only faintly broken by Kane’s soft tread. He walked the cold stones slowly, hand near swordhilt and keen eyes searching every shadow. There was an almost tangible aura of fear abroad in the torchlit corridors, and death crouched invisibly in