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won't open." "Did you speak the magic words?" Llynya asked, her nimble fingers making quick work of one plait after another, each bound with the tiniest strip of silver-gray cloth. "I know no magic words." "Ah, there's your problem." The girl laughed and leaned forward, placing a kiss upon Ceridwen's cheek. "You must get Dain to teach you the magic words." Ceridwen lifted her hand to where the kiss warmed her skin. Sweet green-eyed child. There was much she wanted to learn from Dain Lavrans, especially in magic words, though she had yet to approach him on the subject. She looked around the grove, searching until she found him near the oak. He and Rhuddlan sat on the leaf-covered ground, apart from the others making camp in the maze of the giant tree's roots. The gnarled curves swept as high as a man's waist close to the trunk, providing shelter and privacy. The boy Shay was acting as their cupbearer, taking the two men murrey, small cakes, and flagons of warm honeymead dipped out of a cauldron set amidst a circle of banked coals in the middle of the grove. Dain and Rhuddlan appeared deep in conversation over the small fire burning in the brazier set between them. "He has one very special word he uses," Llynya said, her voice growing thoughtful. " 'Tis a strange one, it is, 'sezhamey.' 'Twas what he said the first time he opened the door and won the tower and the gold." He had not mentioned gold to Ceridwen, nor anything of winning his richly appointed tower. Would that she could have such luck and be left alone the way he was, with rooms to spare and no overlord. The night wind came up, lifting a portion of his hair and carrying it like a veil across his face. He smoothed the loose strands back and brought the whole length of his hair over one shoulder, securing it with a smoothly twisted knot. Page 70 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Her gaze danced over him, following the lines of his cloak from where it broke at his shoulder and draped his torso before pooling on the ground. One of his legs was bent to support his elbow in a casual pose. Tawny leather boots, cross gartered with more of the same, reached to his knees. His tunic was black, his chausses forest-green like his gambeson, and his every move was fluid, full of the sorcerer's grace. Llynya liked him well enough, calling him O Great One. For herself, Ceridwen didn't need to like him. Neither did she have to stare at him every waking moment he was in her presence, surreptitiously watching him from beneath her lashes, always on guard to shift her gaze should he glance her way but she did. "Sezz-hamm-ey." She tried the word out on her tongue. She would use it the next time she faced the door alone. "Oh, aye, that's good. He's a great magician, he is," the sprite continued. "Why, I've seen him bring up roiling clouds of smoke from the bare ground. He can turn fire into rainbow colors and make the stars fall from the sky." She bound the loose ends of another tiny braid and parted off another section of hair. "I saw him dance with lightning once. 'Twas amazing." Ceridwen stared at the girl in astonishment. Dance with lightning? "Now hold still," Llynya gently chided, pushing Ceridwen's chin around to keep her braidwork even. Ceridwen's gaze immediately returned to Dain. Dancing with lightning. She could well imagine how amazing such a sight must have been: Lavrans calling down a deadly bolt of sky fire and taming it to his will, his dark robe billowing in the wind, his face alight with the force of nature's blazing radiance and the lightning, twisting and turning a path across the earth, the air sizzling in its wake as it fought the reins of his magic. By the grace of God, that was the trick she needed, whatever the cost. Dain let his last sentence trail off into silence, noting that his friend was not listening. Rhuddlan's attention and his eyes, whose irises were so clear a gray as to be almost colorless, the hue saved only by the verdant rim reflecting into the middle, were fixed across the grove on Ceridwen ab Arawn. Flames from the campfire cast a tracery of shadows across Rhuddlan's profile, alternately concealing and revealing his high brow, finely chiseled cheekbones, and narrow jaw. Blue paint covered a strip of his face from just above his eyebrows to the bridge of his thin, slightly upturned nose, running from temple to temple and into his pale hair. 'Twas a badge of his high standing, the same badge Dain wore on the night when he became Quicken-tree. He looked past Rhuddlan to where Ceridwen sat among the women, and he knew what held the other man's gaze. She was lovely, ethereal with her hair reflecting the moonlight. The feeling of contentment in the camp had softened her eyes and brought a liveliness to her features he had not seen before. He'd felt the same his first time in the hidden forest where Nemeton had once held sway, as if he'd come home. The Quicken-tree had generous spirits and a rare talent for bringing strangers [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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