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Then two began a slow lope towards him. A moment later the remaining five fanned out and followed.
Oh…
Sudden calm descended upon him. He knew he was as good as already dead. There would be no time to open the warren to return to his own world-nor would he, in any case, since to do so would give the hounds a path to follow- and I’ll not have their arrival in the oasis a crime staining my soul. Better to die here and now. Duly punished for my obsessive curiosity .
The hounds showed nothing of the speed they had unveiled against the K’ell Hunters, as if they sensed L’oric’s comparative weakness.
He heard water rushing behind him and spun round.
A dragon filled his vision, low over the water-so fast as to lift a thrashing wave in its wake-and the talons spread wide, the huge clawed hands reaching down.
He threw his arms over his face and head as the enormous scaled fingers closed like a cage around him, then snatched him skyward.
A brief, disjointed glimpse of the hounds scattering from the dragon’s shadow-the distant sound of half-human yelps and shrieks-then naught before his eyes but the glistening white belly of the dragon, seen between two curled talons.
He was carried far, out onto a sea, then towards an island where stood a squat tower, its flat roof broad and solid enough for the dragon, wings spreading to thunder against the air, to settle.
The claws opened, tumbling L’oric onto the gouged and scraped stones. He rolled up against the platform’s low wall, then slowly sat up.
And stared at the enormous gold and white dragon, its lambent eyes fixed upon him with, L’oric knew instinctively, reproach. The High Mage managed a shrug.
‘Father,’ he said, ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
Osric was not one for furnishings and decor. The chamber beneath the platform was barren, its floor littered with the detritus left by nesting swallows, the air pungent with guano.
L’oric leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching his father pace.
He was pure Liosan in appearance, tall and pale as snow, his long, wavy hair silver and streaked with gold. His eyes seemed to rage with an inner fire, its tones a match to his hair, silver licked by gold. He was wearing plain grey leathers, the sword at his belt virtually identical to the one L’oric carried.
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Then two began a slow lope towards him. A moment later the remaining five fanned out and followed.
Oh…
Sudden calm descended upon him. He knew he was as good as already dead. There would be no time to open the warren to return to his own world-nor would he, in any case, since to do so would give the hounds a path to follow- and I’ll not have their arrival in the oasis a crime staining my soul. Better to die here and now. Duly punished for my obsessive curiosity .
The hounds showed nothing of the speed they had unveiled against the K’ell Hunters, as if they sensed L’oric’s comparative weakness.
He heard water rushing behind him and spun round.
A dragon filled his vision, low over the water-so fast as to lift a thrashing wave in its wake-and the talons spread wide, the huge clawed hands reaching down.
He threw his arms over his face and head as the enormous scaled fingers closed like a cage around him, then snatched him skyward.
A brief, disjointed glimpse of the hounds scattering from the dragon’s shadow-the distant sound of half-human yelps and shrieks-then naught before his eyes but the glistening white belly of the dragon, seen between two curled talons.
He was carried far, out onto a sea, then towards an island where stood a squat tower, its flat roof broad and solid enough for the dragon, wings spreading to thunder against the air, to settle.
The claws opened, tumbling L’oric onto the gouged and scraped stones. He rolled up against the platform’s low wall, then slowly sat up.
And stared at the enormous gold and white dragon, its lambent eyes fixed upon him with, L’oric knew instinctively, reproach. The High Mage managed a shrug.
‘Father,’ he said, ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
Osric was not one for furnishings and decor. The chamber beneath the platform was barren, its floor littered with the detritus left by nesting swallows, the air pungent with guano.
L’oric leaned against a wall, arms crossed, watching his father pace.
He was pure Liosan in appearance, tall and pale as snow, his long, wavy hair silver and streaked with gold. His eyes seemed to rage with an inner fire, its tones a match to his hair, silver licked by gold. He was wearing plain grey leathers, the sword at his belt virtually identical to the one L’oric carried.
‘Father. The Queen of Dreams believes you lost,’ he said after a long moment.
‘I am. Or, rather, I was. Further, I would remain so.’
‘You do not trust her?’
He paused, studied his son briefly, then said, ‘Of course I trust her. And my trust is made purer by her ignorance. What are you doing here?’
Sometimes longing is to be preferred to reality . L’oric sighed. ‘I am not even sure where here is. I was… questing for truths.’
Osric grunted and began pacing once more. ‘You said earlier you were looking for me. How did you discover my trail?’
‘I didn’t. My searching for you was more of a, ah, generalized sort of thing. This present excursion was an altogether different hunt.’
‘That was about to see you killed.’
L’oric nodded. He looked around the chamber. ‘You live here?’
His father grimaced. ‘An observation point. The K’Chain Che’Malle skykeeps invariably approach from the north, over water.’
‘Skykeeps… such as Moon’s Spawn?’
A veiled glance, then a nod. ‘Yes.’
‘And it was in Rake’s floating fortress that you first embarked on the trail that took you here. What did you discover that the Tiste Andu Lord of Darkness didn’t?’
Osric snorted. ‘Only that which was at his very feet. Moon’s Spawn bore signs of damage, of breaching. Then slaughter. None the less, a few survived, at least long enough to begin it on its journey home. North, out over the icefields. Of course, it never made it past those icefields. Did you know that the glacier that held Moon’s Spawn had travelled a thousand leagues with its prize? A thousand leagues, L’oric, before Rake and I stumbled upon it north of Laederon Plateau.’
‘You are saying Moon’s Spawn was originally one of these skykeeps that arrived here?’
‘It was. Three have come in the time that I have been here. None survived the Deragoth.’
‘The what?’
Osric halted and faced his son once more. ‘The Hounds of Darkness. The seven beasts that Dessimbelackis made pact with-and oh, weren’t the Nameless Ones shaken by that unholy alliance? The seven beasts, L’oric, that gave the name to Seven Cities, although no memory survives of that particular truth. The Seven Holy Cities of our time are not the original ones, of course. Only the number has survived.’
