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.Reversing his swing, he cracked the butt of his staff into the screaming man's jaw.The shaman, his pain-filled screams cut short, toppled back to the tower's edge, but Bastun caught the front of his robes.Dazed, hanging over the long drop, the Creel's head rolled back, smeared with blood and spitting teeth."Why have you come here?" Bastun yelled, shaking the man and threatening with his axe.His injured arm burned with the weight, but he managed to hold on as the dangling man coughed and laughed weakly."You are.fool.witch-wizard," he replied in a broken Common, blinking and trying to focus on his ruined hand."Why? Why am I a fool?" Bastun asked, his arm aching with strain."Old blood.is come here." The shaman's eyes cleared, madness shining in them as he glared in fury."He put.house back in order.his Breath.to end you!"Bastun felt his heart skip a beat, the Creel's words turning his concerns into grim reality."The Breath," he whispered, "Where? Do you—?"His shoulder popped and he cried out as the Creel slipped away.Bastun stumbled backward, his shoulder limp and arm dangling.In pain, he dimly heard the shaman hit the stones below, a fleeting comfort as he contemplated the man's last words."No time," he muttered."No time now."Kneeling, he retrieved his axe, pinned his hand under the shaft with his boot, and gripped the dislocated shoulder.Taking a deep breath, he pushed.The white-hot pain of his shoulder snapping into place brought stars to his eyes.Awkwardly he stood and leaned on the edge of the tower.A rousing cry erupted among the berserkers as the scouts returned and joined the battle.Sighing in relief, Bastun slumped and crawled back to the ruined end of the wall, edging his way down carefully.The warriors' blades made little more than writhing parts of the bleakborn.They kicked the pieces away from one another, spitting in disgust while at the same time muttering prayers of peace for their cursed brethren.As Bastun rested, he noticed a change in the eyes of the fang.They gathered and made signs of warding.A handful of the sellswords stood at the edge of the enclosure, staring blankly into a distant nowhere.Bastun recalled hearing the durthans dark spell and looked upon the mindless dead she had made of her own men."Abominations!" Thaena shouted."Perhaps," Anilya countered."But abominations that tipped the odds in our favor." Several of the bleakborn lay smashed at the zombies' feet."This is not our way," said Thaena."To win at any cost, inviting evil such as this to darken our doorstep!""And our alliance?" Anilya replied, crossing her arms."Is one cost more acceptable than another?""We will make allowances for the living as need dictates," the ethran said, "but we will not resort to fouling the laws of nature.Shandaular bears curse enough without your help."The ethran turned back to the fang, pointing at the Shield's doors."Get those open," she ordered, then faced Anilya again, gesturing at the undead."Burn them."Their masks, night and day, displayed a conflict far beyondthe mere use of necromancy.Anilya broke the stare, glancing sidelong at her creations."Fine," she said calmly, then added before turning away, "But in the future you might do well to consider the costs of defeat."Ohriman followed the durthan, lighting a torch and descending to the courtyard behind the walking dead.Looking west Bastun searched through the fog, now growing lighter as dawn neared.High above in the northwest tower he spotted a faint pinpoint of flickering light, like an earthbound star dying and choking in Shandaular's misty cloak."Old blood," he muttered, recalling the shaman's words.The Creel had indeed come with some knowledge of the Shield's secrets.Briefly Bastun wondered if it had been they who had invaded the Running Rocks, stolen the scrolls, and slain old Keffrass.Even with the scrolls, the Breath's location was a mystery, known only to a select few among the wychlaren and vremyonni, but his sense of urgency was nonetheless jolted by the thought.He started as the doors creaked open behind him.The smell of smoke drew his gaze to the durthan on the steps below, the dead standing at mute attention as they were set aflame.They did not move, feeling no pain as their cold flesh charred and fell away, slowly revealing skull-grins and emptied sockets before falling one by one to the ground.He caught the durthans eye, her mask aglow in the flames' light.Troubled by the connection in that stare, he turned toward the opening doors, away from the smell of burning flesh and the flashing eyes of Anilya.+ + + + +Burning cinders floated through the air around Anilya, but she paid them no mind.The vremyonni was a far more intriguing subject than the wasteful destruction of perfectlygood bodies [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Reversing his swing, he cracked the butt of his staff into the screaming man's jaw.The shaman, his pain-filled screams cut short, toppled back to the tower's edge, but Bastun caught the front of his robes.Dazed, hanging over the long drop, the Creel's head rolled back, smeared with blood and spitting teeth."Why have you come here?" Bastun yelled, shaking the man and threatening with his axe.His injured arm burned with the weight, but he managed to hold on as the dangling man coughed and laughed weakly."You are.fool.witch-wizard," he replied in a broken Common, blinking and trying to focus on his ruined hand."Why? Why am I a fool?" Bastun asked, his arm aching with strain."Old blood.is come here." The shaman's eyes cleared, madness shining in them as he glared in fury."He put.house back in order.his Breath.to end you!"Bastun felt his heart skip a beat, the Creel's words turning his concerns into grim reality."The Breath," he whispered, "Where? Do you—?"His shoulder popped and he cried out as the Creel slipped away.Bastun stumbled backward, his shoulder limp and arm dangling.In pain, he dimly heard the shaman hit the stones below, a fleeting comfort as he contemplated the man's last words."No time," he muttered."No time now."Kneeling, he retrieved his axe, pinned his hand under the shaft with his boot, and gripped the dislocated shoulder.Taking a deep breath, he pushed.The white-hot pain of his shoulder snapping into place brought stars to his eyes.Awkwardly he stood and leaned on the edge of the tower.A rousing cry erupted among the berserkers as the scouts returned and joined the battle.Sighing in relief, Bastun slumped and crawled back to the ruined end of the wall, edging his way down carefully.The warriors' blades made little more than writhing parts of the bleakborn.They kicked the pieces away from one another, spitting in disgust while at the same time muttering prayers of peace for their cursed brethren.As Bastun rested, he noticed a change in the eyes of the fang.They gathered and made signs of warding.A handful of the sellswords stood at the edge of the enclosure, staring blankly into a distant nowhere.Bastun recalled hearing the durthans dark spell and looked upon the mindless dead she had made of her own men."Abominations!" Thaena shouted."Perhaps," Anilya countered."But abominations that tipped the odds in our favor." Several of the bleakborn lay smashed at the zombies' feet."This is not our way," said Thaena."To win at any cost, inviting evil such as this to darken our doorstep!""And our alliance?" Anilya replied, crossing her arms."Is one cost more acceptable than another?""We will make allowances for the living as need dictates," the ethran said, "but we will not resort to fouling the laws of nature.Shandaular bears curse enough without your help."The ethran turned back to the fang, pointing at the Shield's doors."Get those open," she ordered, then faced Anilya again, gesturing at the undead."Burn them."Their masks, night and day, displayed a conflict far beyondthe mere use of necromancy.Anilya broke the stare, glancing sidelong at her creations."Fine," she said calmly, then added before turning away, "But in the future you might do well to consider the costs of defeat."Ohriman followed the durthan, lighting a torch and descending to the courtyard behind the walking dead.Looking west Bastun searched through the fog, now growing lighter as dawn neared.High above in the northwest tower he spotted a faint pinpoint of flickering light, like an earthbound star dying and choking in Shandaular's misty cloak."Old blood," he muttered, recalling the shaman's words.The Creel had indeed come with some knowledge of the Shield's secrets.Briefly Bastun wondered if it had been they who had invaded the Running Rocks, stolen the scrolls, and slain old Keffrass.Even with the scrolls, the Breath's location was a mystery, known only to a select few among the wychlaren and vremyonni, but his sense of urgency was nonetheless jolted by the thought.He started as the doors creaked open behind him.The smell of smoke drew his gaze to the durthan on the steps below, the dead standing at mute attention as they were set aflame.They did not move, feeling no pain as their cold flesh charred and fell away, slowly revealing skull-grins and emptied sockets before falling one by one to the ground.He caught the durthans eye, her mask aglow in the flames' light.Troubled by the connection in that stare, he turned toward the opening doors, away from the smell of burning flesh and the flashing eyes of Anilya.+ + + + +Burning cinders floated through the air around Anilya, but she paid them no mind.The vremyonni was a far more intriguing subject than the wasteful destruction of perfectlygood bodies [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]