Read Online Zandru's Forge by Marion Zimmer Bradley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
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along with the finger pattern. The movement shaped the energy of his mind to slide along the matrix guides within the aircar. An answering surge of power lifted the stubby wings of the craft.
“You see,” the pilot said, “it’s not so mysterious. You could learn to do it.”
“We’ll have no such talk,” Dom Felix said, shifting uneasily, “or any more idle diversions. Your instructions were to take us to Sweetwater as quickly as may be, and we have no time for dalliance.”
“As you wish, though we are already making the best possible speed, so there is nothing lost in a simple demonstration,” Jeronimo answered. “In my experience, nothing learned is ever a waste of time.” However, he refrained from further comment.
In the silence of the remaining flight, Varzil tried to imagine what might have befallen his brother Harald. They were not especially close, for they were separated in age by the twins, Ann‘dra and Silvie, who had both perished in adolescence from threshold sickness, and by Joenna. A third sister, Dyannis, was still a child. Varzil had been eight when the twins died, about the time he first heard the Ya-men singing in the hills. Joenna was now betrothed to the son of a wealthy Alar dyn lord, and much more interested in her upcoming wedding than anything having to do with laran.
Of all his siblings, Varzil felt the deepest kinship with Dyannis. Her own Gift had not yet shown itself, but he never doubted she had one, for she always seemed to know what he was thinking before he spoke.
Harald was fair, bespeaking the Dry Towns ancestry of the Ridenow. Like many of his family, he had a talent for working with livestock. In his memory, Varzil saw his brother, golden hair tied back with a rawhide thong, sitting on the back of a green-broken colt, stroking the trembling animal, calming its fears with mind as well as words. A big man he was, strong in the shoulders, with gentle hands, a weather-reddened face, an easy laugh....
Darkness. A line of fire along his ribs, stiff with crusted blood. Pain throbbing deep within his shoulder. Thirst. Adren aline like coppery ashes in his mouth. A sword hilt hard and sure in his hand. Light seeping through the crevice above. The musty spoor of cat. A voice, hoarse with urgency—“Did they see us, m‘lord?”
With a jerk, the aircar touched ground. Varzil blinked, staring through the transparent panel. His stomach lurched. The darkness of his vision receded to reveal familiar surroundings. They were a little distance from the main house at Sweetwater, in the field by the paddocks. A handful of men ran to meet them. Dom Felix clambered down from the aircar, shouting for saddled horses and torches.
Black Eiric jumped to the ground. “Vai dom, you cannot mean to ride tonight! The sun is already near set! Not even the best tracker can follow a trail in those hills in the dark. The catmen could as easily ambush you, too.”
“My son, my Harald, is out there! I must go!”
Varzil heard the brittle desperation in his father’s voice. The old man had been pale with exhaustion even before they’d started back to Arilinn. He had rested a little in the aircar, but only because he had no choice, confined as he was within its narrow space.
“Father, you will make yourself ill if you keep on like this.” Varzil touched his father’s arm.
Before his father could protest, Varzil rushed on. “What can you accomplish that Eiric and his men cannot? Can you see in the dark? Can you track better than they? What will become of Sweetwater if there is a fight and you are wounded?”
“You young pup—” You think to give me orders?
Though his father pulled against his grasp, Varzil held him firm. Through the layers of his father’s clothing, he felt a faint, bone-deep trembling.
“You are lord and master here!” Varzil said. “This entire estate depends upon you, from ordering the day’s work to speaking for us at Comryn Council. You are not an ordinary man,
“You see,” the pilot said, “it’s not so mysterious. You could learn to do it.”
“We’ll have no such talk,” Dom Felix said, shifting uneasily, “or any more idle diversions. Your instructions were to take us to Sweetwater as quickly as may be, and we have no time for dalliance.”
“As you wish, though we are already making the best possible speed, so there is nothing lost in a simple demonstration,” Jeronimo answered. “In my experience, nothing learned is ever a waste of time.” However, he refrained from further comment.
In the silence of the remaining flight, Varzil tried to imagine what might have befallen his brother Harald. They were not especially close, for they were separated in age by the twins, Ann‘dra and Silvie, who had both perished in adolescence from threshold sickness, and by Joenna. A third sister, Dyannis, was still a child. Varzil had been eight when the twins died, about the time he first heard the Ya-men singing in the hills. Joenna was now betrothed to the son of a wealthy Alar dyn lord, and much more interested in her upcoming wedding than anything having to do with laran.
Of all his siblings, Varzil felt the deepest kinship with Dyannis. Her own Gift had not yet shown itself, but he never doubted she had one, for she always seemed to know what he was thinking before he spoke.
Harald was fair, bespeaking the Dry Towns ancestry of the Ridenow. Like many of his family, he had a talent for working with livestock. In his memory, Varzil saw his brother, golden hair tied back with a rawhide thong, sitting on the back of a green-broken colt, stroking the trembling animal, calming its fears with mind as well as words. A big man he was, strong in the shoulders, with gentle hands, a weather-reddened face, an easy laugh....
Darkness. A line of fire along his ribs, stiff with crusted blood. Pain throbbing deep within his shoulder. Thirst. Adren aline like coppery ashes in his mouth. A sword hilt hard and sure in his hand. Light seeping through the crevice above. The musty spoor of cat. A voice, hoarse with urgency—“Did they see us, m‘lord?”
With a jerk, the aircar touched ground. Varzil blinked, staring through the transparent panel. His stomach lurched. The darkness of his vision receded to reveal familiar surroundings. They were a little distance from the main house at Sweetwater, in the field by the paddocks. A handful of men ran to meet them. Dom Felix clambered down from the aircar, shouting for saddled horses and torches.
Black Eiric jumped to the ground. “Vai dom, you cannot mean to ride tonight! The sun is already near set! Not even the best tracker can follow a trail in those hills in the dark. The catmen could as easily ambush you, too.”
“My son, my Harald, is out there! I must go!”
Varzil heard the brittle desperation in his father’s voice. The old man had been pale with exhaustion even before they’d started back to Arilinn. He had rested a little in the aircar, but only because he had no choice, confined as he was within its narrow space.
“Father, you will make yourself ill if you keep on like this.” Varzil touched his father’s arm.
Before his father could protest, Varzil rushed on. “What can you accomplish that Eiric and his men cannot? Can you see in the dark? Can you track better than they? What will become of Sweetwater if there is a fight and you are wounded?”
“You young pup—” You think to give me orders?
Though his father pulled against his grasp, Varzil held him firm. Through the layers of his father’s clothing, he felt a faint, bone-deep trembling.
“You are lord and master here!” Varzil said. “This entire estate depends upon you, from ordering the day’s work to speaking for us at Comryn Council. You are not an ordinary man,
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