Read Online To Green Angel Tower, Volume 2 by Tad Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tad Williams
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striking-steel, but wondered how long it would be until he discovered something he needed just as much but had forgotten in the hurry to leave camp. He sat before the fire for a while, warming his hands and watching Miriamele sleep.
A bit later, as he was looking through the saddlebags to see what there might be to eat, Miriamele began to toss in her sleep and cry out.
“No!” she mumbled. “No, I won’t ...” She half-raised her arms, as though to fight something off. After watching in consternation for a moment, Simon went and kneeled beside her, taking her hand.
“Miriamele. Princess. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
She tugged against his grip, but strengthlessly. At last her eyes opened. She stared at him, and briefly seemed to see someone else, for she brought her free hand up as though to protect herself. Then she recognized him and let the hand fall. Her other hand remained clutched in his.
“It was just a bad dream.” He squeezed her fingers gently, surprised and gratified by how much larger his hand was than hers.
“I’m well,” she muttered at last, and drew herself up into a sitting position, pulling the cloak tightly about her shoulders. She glared around at the clearing as though the presence of daylight was some silly prank of Simon’s. “What time of day is it?”
“The sun’s not over the treetops yet. Down there, I mean. I walked down to the river.”
She didn’t reply, but clambered to her feet and walked unsteadily out of the copse. Simon shrugged and went back to his search for something on which they could break their fast.
When Miriamele returned a short time later, he had turned up a lump of soft cheese and round loaf of bread; he had split the latter open and was toasting it on a stick over the small fire. “Good morning,” she said. She looked tousled, but she had washed the dirt from her face and her expression was almost cheerful. “I’m sorry I was so cross. I had a ... a terrible dream.”
He looked at her with interest, but she did not elaborate. “There’s food here,” he said.
“A fire, too.” She came and sat near, holding out her hands. “I hope the smoke doesn’t show.”
“It doesn’t. I went out a little way and looked.”
Simon gave Miriamele half the bread and a hunk of the cheese. She ate greedily, then smiled with her mouth full. After swallowing, she said: “I was hungry. I was so worried last night that I didn’t eat.”
“There’s more if you want it.”
She shook her head. “We have to save it. I don’t know how long we’ll be traveling and we may have trouble getting more.” Miriamele looked up. “Can you shoot? I brought a bow and a quiver of arrows.” She pointed to the unstrung bow hanging beside her saddle.
Simon shrugged. “I’ve shot one, but I’m no Mundwode. I could probably hit a cow from a dozen paces or so.”
Miriamele giggled. “I was thinking of rabbits or squirrels or birds, Simon. I don’t think there will be many cows standing around.”
He nodded sagely. “Then we’d better do as you say and save our food.”
Miriamele sat back and placed her hands on her stomach. “As long as the fire’s going ...” She stood and went to her saddlebags. She brought out a pair of bowls and a small drawstring sack and returned to the fire, then placed two small stones in the embers to heat. “I brought some calamint tea.”
“You don’t put salt and butter in it, do you?” Simon asked, remembering the Qanuc and their odd additions.
“Elysia’s mercy, no!” she said, laughing. “But I wish we had some honey.”
While they drank the tea—Simon thought it a great improvement on Mintahoq aka —Miriamele talked about what they would do that day. She did not want to resume riding until sundown, but there were other things to be accomplished.
“You can teach me something about swordplay, for one thing.”
“What?” Simon stared at her as though she had asked him to show her how to
A bit later, as he was looking through the saddlebags to see what there might be to eat, Miriamele began to toss in her sleep and cry out.
“No!” she mumbled. “No, I won’t ...” She half-raised her arms, as though to fight something off. After watching in consternation for a moment, Simon went and kneeled beside her, taking her hand.
“Miriamele. Princess. Wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”
She tugged against his grip, but strengthlessly. At last her eyes opened. She stared at him, and briefly seemed to see someone else, for she brought her free hand up as though to protect herself. Then she recognized him and let the hand fall. Her other hand remained clutched in his.
“It was just a bad dream.” He squeezed her fingers gently, surprised and gratified by how much larger his hand was than hers.
“I’m well,” she muttered at last, and drew herself up into a sitting position, pulling the cloak tightly about her shoulders. She glared around at the clearing as though the presence of daylight was some silly prank of Simon’s. “What time of day is it?”
“The sun’s not over the treetops yet. Down there, I mean. I walked down to the river.”
She didn’t reply, but clambered to her feet and walked unsteadily out of the copse. Simon shrugged and went back to his search for something on which they could break their fast.
When Miriamele returned a short time later, he had turned up a lump of soft cheese and round loaf of bread; he had split the latter open and was toasting it on a stick over the small fire. “Good morning,” she said. She looked tousled, but she had washed the dirt from her face and her expression was almost cheerful. “I’m sorry I was so cross. I had a ... a terrible dream.”
He looked at her with interest, but she did not elaborate. “There’s food here,” he said.
“A fire, too.” She came and sat near, holding out her hands. “I hope the smoke doesn’t show.”
“It doesn’t. I went out a little way and looked.”
Simon gave Miriamele half the bread and a hunk of the cheese. She ate greedily, then smiled with her mouth full. After swallowing, she said: “I was hungry. I was so worried last night that I didn’t eat.”
“There’s more if you want it.”
She shook her head. “We have to save it. I don’t know how long we’ll be traveling and we may have trouble getting more.” Miriamele looked up. “Can you shoot? I brought a bow and a quiver of arrows.” She pointed to the unstrung bow hanging beside her saddle.
Simon shrugged. “I’ve shot one, but I’m no Mundwode. I could probably hit a cow from a dozen paces or so.”
Miriamele giggled. “I was thinking of rabbits or squirrels or birds, Simon. I don’t think there will be many cows standing around.”
He nodded sagely. “Then we’d better do as you say and save our food.”
Miriamele sat back and placed her hands on her stomach. “As long as the fire’s going ...” She stood and went to her saddlebags. She brought out a pair of bowls and a small drawstring sack and returned to the fire, then placed two small stones in the embers to heat. “I brought some calamint tea.”
“You don’t put salt and butter in it, do you?” Simon asked, remembering the Qanuc and their odd additions.
“Elysia’s mercy, no!” she said, laughing. “But I wish we had some honey.”
While they drank the tea—Simon thought it a great improvement on Mintahoq aka —Miriamele talked about what they would do that day. She did not want to resume riding until sundown, but there were other things to be accomplished.
“You can teach me something about swordplay, for one thing.”
“What?” Simon stared at her as though she had asked him to show her how to
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