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would be unable to see the terror in her eyes. Blade clenched his jaw and heaved upward. Her weight grew lighter as he did, and he flopped her back onto the span. She lay there a second, panting. He let go only when he knew she was secure and could not slide back over the rim. He hadn't had the strength to help. His fingers had been almost too numb to grip her arms. Thank god her Talent, though weakened, was still there. She got to her knees. "Let's go." "Can you walk?" "Do I have any choice?" She gave a bittersweet smile. "It's too far to go back." They slogged on endlessly until it seemed they must have walked for an entire night. Dawn had to be edging over the horizon from somewhere. Lady staggered, holding onto her stirrup. Murphy came to a stubborn halt. The mule shook his head, ears flopping noisily. "He's got more sense than we do. We're going to have to rest them." Thomas eyed the waning night. "And ourselves." As he reached up to take off the mare's blindfold, she butted him in the chest and he dropped like a stone. The torch rolled harmlessly onto the bridge and lay there, smoldering. It threw almost as much light as a lantern. Lady came to his side. "Thomas!" She put her hand to his forehead. "You're like ice." In contrast, the warmth of her hand was a brand across his face. He waved her away. "What's happening to you?" "I fuel the road." "With what?" "Dammifiknow. My life, I think." "Then get us off it, now." He looked into the miasma boiling underneath the thin fabric of the golden span. He looked back into Lady's eyes. One blue, one brown. "I can't," he said. "I didn't willfully bring us this time and I don't know how to get us back." "Shit." She sat down next to him. She pulled her denim riding skirt off her slim hips and threw it over him. It came billowing down, filled with her warmth and her woman-scented, musky perfume. His teeth began to chatter. She lay across him, hugging him. When his shuddering stopped, she brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Tell me how it is you do it." "Do what?" "Open the ghost road." He reached inside his jacket. The bones came to his fingers reluctantly and he pulled them out. Lady looked at what he held. "Is this a focus?" "No. Yes. I'm not sure. This isn't a paranormal Talent." "Then what is it?" "Witchcraft?" Her laughter died in her throat. "I " she stopped. "You've always been fey, Thomas, in a way none of the rest of us are. Who else could use a pebble to project a fog? Dowse for water and never have to worry about its being clean? Know unerringly the right and wrong of things? Truth-reading is one thing, but it doesn't make justice any easier to deal out. When I Read someone, I know only if they've lied, but not what the truth is. I've seen you execute a man without blinking, because you knew it was the only thing to do." He could barely hear her now. He felt transparent, fading. Lady could feel him slip away, as surely as if he had gone over the rim of the bridge the way she had earlier. She reached out with her mind and caught him in her thoughts, anchoring him. As she did, she could feel the terrible toll of the ghost road. His mind was like a great, raw wound. She could feel Denethan in it, like a festering thorn. He'd never been rid of his foe did he even know they were still linked? She shielded him as well as she was able and when she'd finished and opened her eyes to look at him, a hint of color had returned to his face. She took a deep breath. "I can't lose you now." She grabbed for Murphy and the mare, who stood listlessly, muzzle to the strange golden fog that encircled their hooves. She threw down their grass catchers so they could eat something. She pulled her pack down and set up her tiny brazier, set a spark of fire among the coals with a snap of her mind and made herb tea, sweetening it with a last bit of honeycomb. With an exquisitely carved teaspoon, she fed him every last drop. Then she picked up the hand still curled about the grotesque bones. He was cold as stone, as death, as& evil. Hesitantly, because she was afraid, and dammit, she, Lady Nolan, had never been afraid since the day her mentor died hesitantly, she opened his fingers and touched the bones. The screams of a thousand thousand dead echoed in her mind, a vibration so powerful that it could be tracked through the darkest night. The voices screamed as one, and separately, in fear and hatred and confusion. "Dear God!" Lady dropped his hand, unable to bear the vision. No heaven or hell or rest for these people, this past. Now she knew what he meant when he talked of resonances, of ghosts, of echoes. "Thomas?" He stirred slightly. His eyes moved behind his lids and she wondered whether he only dreamed or was caught in a struggle against the ghost road's pull. Lady took a deep breath, preparing to meditate, and offer whatever aid she could give. Murphy's snort interrupted her. She came out of trance with a jerk, already in a half-crouch and facing the part of the bridge they'd crossed. Red slits bobbed in the darkness. The wolfrats had trailed them. She could hear the gnash of their teeth. Wind their carrion scent. But how? How did they get here? How did they traverse the fabric of this delicate universe Thomas had woven? With the Sight, she picked them up as smoke and crimson. Thomas moaned. She looked back to him and gasped. He had tossed off her skirt and lay on the bridge, no less golden or ethereal than it. She smothered a sob, ran a hand across her face to clear her vision, and he looked his weather-beaten self again. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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