Read Online The Fall of Neskaya by Marion Zimmer Bradley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
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have to eat any of the brown-crisp roasted rabbit-horn, its fat dripping into the fire to send up puffs of smoke.
Rafe, who had been bending over to check the meat for doneness, suddenly and without straightening up whipped his knife from its sheath. Every line in his body tensed with alertness.
“Come out, and give your names!” Rafe called.
“Put down the knife!” came a voice from the dark beyond the circle of firelight. “You’re surrounded and outnumbered.”
Rafe, still crouched in a fighting stance, called back, “I hear only one. Who are you? What do you want?”
From another direction came a second voice, and then a third. “ ’Tis you who should explain yourselves, trespassers!”
“Captain, the boy wears the colors of Verdanta!”
“Leynier!” the second voice roared. “Leynier spies!”
A man stepped into the light, tall and grim-faced, holding a drawn sword. His cloak, thrown back from his shoulders for fighting, had borders stitched with the emblem of Storn of High Kinnally. Coryn rose to his feet, keeping his hands well away from his body. The Storn captain’s eyes flickered to Coryn and then back to Rafe.
“You cannot win, old man. You may know how to use that knife, but by Aldones, I’ll skewer you before you can touch me.”
Rafe shifted his stance. The silence deepened. With a flick of the wrist, a small knife appeared in his other hand. A throwing knife. The captain’s eyes widened in understanding. His weapon might outreach Rafe’s, but he would never get close enough to use it.
“This stalemate can only end in bloodshed,” the captain began. “For the boy’s sake—”
“Stop this nonsense at once!” A woman’s voice rang out in the night. “Both of you!” An instant later, a small, delicately-made woman with an air of unquestionable authority stepped forward. Firelight reddened her gray cloak and touched unruly auburn curls.
The Storn captain lowered his sword, but did not put it away. Rafe remained as he was.
The woman’s eyes snapped, and she looked as if she would stamp one foot and scold them all like naughty children. Instead, she spoke calmly. “This boy and his guide are henceforth under my protection. You will not harm them, nor will you,” with a look in Rafe’s direction that sent Coryn trembling again, “make any threat toward my escort.”
“But, Lady—” the Captain protested.
“Is that clear?” She had not raised her voice, yet power rang through her words.
Coryn’s knees went powdery. He thought that if he had been holding a knife, he would have dropped it instantly. The Storn man looked about to do just that before he hastily put his sword away. Rafe’s weapons disappeared, the long blade back into its sheath, the throwing knife to wherever it had come from.
As the woman moved closer to Coryn, he saw that she was not young. Silver frosted the coppery curls and a filigree of delicate lines bracketed eyes and lips. A half-smile danced around the corners of her mouth.
“Come with me, chiyu. We have much to discuss.”
She turned and plunged into the darkness. Coryn followed, his feet unable to do anything else. A few steps beyond the circle of firelight, a ball of white light burst into being over her outstretched hand.
Sorceress!
She turned to smile at him. “Hardly. It isn’t magic, what we of the Towers do, as you will soon learn.”
“Who are you?” Coryn blurted out, feeling stupid.
“Bronwyn of Tramontana, leronis of the Third Circle.”
“Tramontana! That’s where I’m going!”
Lady Bronwyn paused, the ball of light flickering over her features. “And who are you, who are destined for the Tower?”
Coryn hesitated. The Storn armsmen already realized he was from Verdanta. If they knew he was Lord Beltran’s son, even a third son who would not inherit, they might hold him for ransom or worse.
“Listen to me,” the lady said sharply. “I don’t care if you’re from Verdanta or Valeron or the far side of
Rafe, who had been bending over to check the meat for doneness, suddenly and without straightening up whipped his knife from its sheath. Every line in his body tensed with alertness.
“Come out, and give your names!” Rafe called.
“Put down the knife!” came a voice from the dark beyond the circle of firelight. “You’re surrounded and outnumbered.”
Rafe, still crouched in a fighting stance, called back, “I hear only one. Who are you? What do you want?”
From another direction came a second voice, and then a third. “ ’Tis you who should explain yourselves, trespassers!”
“Captain, the boy wears the colors of Verdanta!”
“Leynier!” the second voice roared. “Leynier spies!”
A man stepped into the light, tall and grim-faced, holding a drawn sword. His cloak, thrown back from his shoulders for fighting, had borders stitched with the emblem of Storn of High Kinnally. Coryn rose to his feet, keeping his hands well away from his body. The Storn captain’s eyes flickered to Coryn and then back to Rafe.
“You cannot win, old man. You may know how to use that knife, but by Aldones, I’ll skewer you before you can touch me.”
Rafe shifted his stance. The silence deepened. With a flick of the wrist, a small knife appeared in his other hand. A throwing knife. The captain’s eyes widened in understanding. His weapon might outreach Rafe’s, but he would never get close enough to use it.
“This stalemate can only end in bloodshed,” the captain began. “For the boy’s sake—”
“Stop this nonsense at once!” A woman’s voice rang out in the night. “Both of you!” An instant later, a small, delicately-made woman with an air of unquestionable authority stepped forward. Firelight reddened her gray cloak and touched unruly auburn curls.
The Storn captain lowered his sword, but did not put it away. Rafe remained as he was.
The woman’s eyes snapped, and she looked as if she would stamp one foot and scold them all like naughty children. Instead, she spoke calmly. “This boy and his guide are henceforth under my protection. You will not harm them, nor will you,” with a look in Rafe’s direction that sent Coryn trembling again, “make any threat toward my escort.”
“But, Lady—” the Captain protested.
“Is that clear?” She had not raised her voice, yet power rang through her words.
Coryn’s knees went powdery. He thought that if he had been holding a knife, he would have dropped it instantly. The Storn man looked about to do just that before he hastily put his sword away. Rafe’s weapons disappeared, the long blade back into its sheath, the throwing knife to wherever it had come from.
As the woman moved closer to Coryn, he saw that she was not young. Silver frosted the coppery curls and a filigree of delicate lines bracketed eyes and lips. A half-smile danced around the corners of her mouth.
“Come with me, chiyu. We have much to discuss.”
She turned and plunged into the darkness. Coryn followed, his feet unable to do anything else. A few steps beyond the circle of firelight, a ball of white light burst into being over her outstretched hand.
Sorceress!
She turned to smile at him. “Hardly. It isn’t magic, what we of the Towers do, as you will soon learn.”
“Who are you?” Coryn blurted out, feeling stupid.
“Bronwyn of Tramontana, leronis of the Third Circle.”
“Tramontana! That’s where I’m going!”
Lady Bronwyn paused, the ball of light flickering over her features. “And who are you, who are destined for the Tower?”
Coryn hesitated. The Storn armsmen already realized he was from Verdanta. If they knew he was Lord Beltran’s son, even a third son who would not inherit, they might hold him for ransom or worse.
“Listen to me,” the lady said sharply. “I don’t care if you’re from Verdanta or Valeron or the far side of
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