 |
 |
|
|
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] dangers you will face will be of that sort. Many will not. Many will be both, or will seem to be one and be another. There? Is that plain-speaking enough for you?" "No," Harrier said simply. He'd pretty much changed his mind about ever wanting to meet a Wildmage. Apparently all they ever did was hit you and talk incomprehensibly. And thanks to Tiercel, he was already very tired of magic. "But now you have had the bitter and the sour, so I will give you the sweet. Since I knew before I left Vardirvoshanon that I would be meeting you, I brought some objects you will find useful on your journey." Once more she rummaged in the packs spread around her. The first items she came out with were three white quartz stones the size of pigeons' eggs. They were threaded on leather cords. The stones were slightly flattened, and the natural action ol water had worn a hole through the center of each, through which the waxed leather cords were looped and knotted. "Wear these," she said, handing one to each ol them, "and never take them off. I believe they will confuse the enemy which pursues you and who knows, young man? It may allow you to get some sleep at night," she added, with a nod to Tiercel. When Harrier put his on, slipping the knotted cord over his head, he wasn't sure what he expected to feel, but he felt nothing at all. The stone was just a stone, heavy and smooth, like any stone he might pick up out of a riverbed. He turned his attention back to Roneida, not quite sure she wasn't going to hit him again. She was removing another object from her pack; a bundle of arrows tightly wrapped in a case of oiled cloth. "If you'd been sensible enough to go north by way of Ondoladeshiron, you could have replenished your supplies there. As it is, you're likely to run out of arrows long before you reach Ysterialpoerin, young Centauress, and you'll never find a decent fletcher at any of the small towns you pass," Roneida said, passing the bundle to Simera. "I'd suggest you stop for supplies at Windy Meadows, by the way. You'll need to head a bit east of True North to run across it, but that pony of yours could pull a cart without trouble, and then you won't have to live like savages. But I suppose you'll do just as you please." She sniffed disapprovingly reminding Harrier forcibly of a nanny he'd had long ago and continued removing items from her pack. The next item was three large knives in their sheaths. All three were larger and heavier than their own knives even Simera's sturdy practical hunting knife and obviously weapons rather than tools. "And if there is something that my Talismans cannot turn aside, nor Simera's arrows discourage, then you shall be forced to fight, and a strong edge is a compelling argument." They regarded the blades in their hands doubtfully. Of the three of them, Simera had the most experience with keeping the peace, and even she looked as if she'd rather be somewhere else. No matter how many times they told themselves or Tiercel told them that there was danger involved in all of this, no matter how many bandits, bears, ice-storms, and bizarre vanishing travelers they encountered, none of that was the same thing as holding a knife in your hands that had been forged for one purpose: to draw someone's blood. And thinking you might have to use it. "But if these will not serve... " Last of all she pulled the largest of her packs toward her and pulled out a long bundle wrapped in coarse cloth. "Then Harrier shall at last have what he so ardently desires. The chance to hit something." She placed the bundle in Harrier's lap. It was a sword. He felt its shape through the cloth, and unwrapped it quickly, swallowing hard. The sword was sheathed, and there was a swordbelt. He pulled the blade partway from its sheath and stared at it. The silvery blade was slick with grease and gleamed like bright glass in the deep twilight. He knew better than to touch the blade itself if he knew nothing of swords, at least he knew something of knives, and the grease was there to protect the metal of the blade. Besides, it looked sharp. Very sharp. There was no particular ornamentation to either sword or sheath, just good plain leather for the one, and plain metal for the other. The hilt was wrapped in plaited horsehair; the rough wiry surface would give him a good strong grip, no matter how much his hands sweated as he held it. He ran a finger over the hilt experimentally, feeling the roughness. "I don't know how to use a sword," he said aloud. "You'll learn," Roneida said unsympathetically. "And until you do, simply think of it as a long sharp club." Tiercel snickered nervously. Harrier turned and glared at him. Tiercel was the High Mage! Tiercel was the one talking about needing a sword for his stupid magic spells! Why hadn't Roneida given Tiercel the sword? "I, ah, um. Thank you," he said awkwardly. It was a present, after all. And you thanked people for presents, even when they gave you things you'd rather not have. It occurred to him that this had all started when he'd been given a present he hadn't wanted The Compendium of Ancient Myth and Legend. He hoped that this present didn't mean the start of even more trouble. And he really hoped he wasn't going to have to hit anything. "And now we'll have a nice cup of tea, and go to bed," Roneida said briskly. "We all have a long way to go in the morning, and you've all had a very busy day." BUT even after the evening tea something from Roneida's pack; spicy, fragrant, and unfamiliar Harrier couldn't sleep, though Tiercel dozed off immediately and even Simera seemed perfectly able to sleep just as if this were any other night. He couldn't stop thinking about what Roneida had told them. Go find the Elves. It would take them two moonturns at least to cross the Mystrals and reach Ysterialpoerin, and he had no idea how far beyond that the Bazrahil Range was. A long way, he thought. The edge of the world. And Pelashia's Veil was farther still. Their parents were going to think they were dead. They might actually be dead before they got that far, it occurred to him. Roneida hadn't said her rocks could protect them he fingered the white stone around his neck she just said they might help. Whatever was chasing Tiercel would keep coming. None of them really knew much about fighting. Simera could defend herself against bandits if there weren't too many of them but what if something worse came along? Since they all seemed to be falling into a Kindling Day play, why not expect icedrakes and dwerro and bearwards and minotaurs to come charging over the next hill? And unicorns and Frost Giants too? If they were going to visit the Elves, and see dragons, maybe they'd get to see all the creatures of ancient legend, wonderful and monstrous. He really hoped not. It was one thing to imagine them safely in a wondertale that was fine and quite another to imagine actually meeting any of them. The bad ones would kill them outright, and Harrier couldn't really imagine that even the good ones would have much interest in them. And why wouldn't Roneida just do something about Tiercel's visions, if they were so dangerous, instead of sending them off to the Elves? What were the Elves going to do? Train Tyr as a High Mage? From everything Tiercel had said, that took years. If what he was seeing was an actual problem, wouldn't it be over by then, one way or the other? Harrier was definitely going to ask Roneida about all that in the morning. From a safe distance. Although actually he wouldn't even mind getting hit, so long as he got answers as well. She really hadn't told them all that much, though she'd made Tiercel feel better. And the stew had been good. Eventually he exhausted himself with unanswered questions, and slept. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |