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of the world, reduced to lackluster lumps of rock that, like everything else,
had been smothered by the
Mundurucu hex.
Using his thumbs, Slale carefully pushed the two heavy latches in opposite
directions and then lifted the hinged lid to reveal an inner nest of plush
satin. In natural light this would have been a bright, regal red.
Now it was only a wan pillowed mush. A double handful of dust reposed in a
covered crystal bowl all that remained of the venerable sorcerer Susnam
Evyndd.
In accordance with wizardly tradition, the sorrowful mages who had spirited
his corpse safely out of
Kyll-Bar-Bennid had cremated his body upon reaching the safety of the fortress
Malostranka. The remains, much reduced in volume from the original, had been
preserved in the silver box. There it had been decided, by the most
knowledgeable among the scholars of wizardry present, that the ashes ought
properly and in the absence of any other instructions for their disposal be
returned to their owner s last known place of habitation to be scattered among
his possessions. This also was in keeping with sorceral tradition.
Why this need be done, a number of the soldiers had grumbled on more than one
occasion during the long march through the Fasna Wyzel, they could not
imagine. Theirs was not to understand, however, but to do. At least they had
been given the command of a rational, perceptive officer. Slale was no pompous
ass, no rich noble s ambitious progeny, drunk on decorations and ribbons, but
a real soldier:
one the men and women under him could identify with.
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A Triumph of Souls: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 3
 What now, Captain? Sergeant Hyboos looked on impatiently, anxious to be away
from the daunting house of magic and back to the fighting. Every hand was
needed in the defense of the fortress, and they were most certainly wasting
their time here. Meowing hopefully, a long-haired blond cat was rubbing up
against his ankle. He ignored it until, meowing rather more forcefully, it
began to dig its claws into his lower leg. He pushed it away with his other
foot, ignoring it when it hissed at him softly. No one had time to comfort or
caress him
. People were suffering, and he had no time for animals.
 I m not sure, Hyboos. The scholar Popelkas gave no detailed instructions.
 Scatter the ashes in the house was all I was told. Glancing at the
sergeant, seeing the anxious, expectant faces of the rest of the troop, the
good captain shrugged, picked up the bowl, removed the cut crystal lid, pursed
his lips, and blew.
A cloud of gray ash erupted from the interior of the gleaming bowl to swirl
and dissipate throughout the gray-toned kitchen. It was very fine ash, the
cremators having done their task efficiently (as well they ought, having
lately had all too many opportunities to practice their craft). It seemed to
hang briefly in the still air of the high-ceilinged room, scattered only by
the vigor of the captain s forceful exhalation.
Then it began to sift down, until drifting particles of dead sorcerer could no
longer be distinguished from the omnipresent accumulated dust of household
inattention.
Slale waited hopefully, as did his troops, gazing anxiously at their
surroundings. The lusterless sun continued to pour through the tall kitchen
windows. The scruffy dog continued to crunch single-
mindedly at his refilled food bowl. Cats moved silently, or claimed for their
temporary territory muted patches of gray daylight. A single querulous meow
ruffled the stillness. In its cage the canary chirped once from its perch and
was still.
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Among the silent, assembled troops, someone finally made a rude noise. The
ensuing sniggers reflected only a moderate degree of discouragement. No one
had really expected anything to happen.
 Let s get out of here. Frustrated and disappointed, Slale turned and
directed the soldiers to pick up the valuable box and bowl. These he consigned
to the care of those unlucky ones who had escorted it all the way from
Malostranka. Grateful to be at last on their way, the soldiers thus charged
offered no fresh objection to this duty. Who knew what might happen between
house and fortress? One or two of the gemstones set in the sides of the box
might inadvertently manage to work their way free of their restraining bezels.
Peaceful though it was in the dwelling s vicinity, none of the soldiers
desired to linger. In more cheerful times they might have felt differently.
Trapped as they were in the gloom of the hex, with the threat of final
conquest by the Horde looming over all of them, they wished only to return to
Malostranka to participate in the defense of the fortress. There was no time
to lie by the side of the singing stream, luxuriating in its enforced
drabness, on grass drained as gray and lifeless as the ashes they had just
scattered inside the house.
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A Triumph of Souls: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 3
The dog saw them off, his whiskery terrier countenance giving him the aspect
of a sorrowful beggar afflicted with a mustache too big for his face. For a
moment, Slale thought the animal might follow.
Another time, he might have encouraged the friendly mongrel to do so. Not now.
At Malostranka there was food enough only for those able to fight. A last look
back, when the residence was nearly out of sight, showed that the dog had gone
back inside. He hoped they had left it food enough until some friend or
relative of the dead wizard thought to pay a visit to the house. Twisting in
his saddle, he turned his gaze and his thoughts firmly to the path ahead. They
were done with this honorable but frivolous mission, and he was anxious to be
out of these endless woods and back to the fortress.
The house of Susnam Evyndd fell behind, until it was lost to sight among the
trees. Despondent birds flitted between the massive boles, too dejected by
their dismal surroundings to sing. Forest animals crept listlessly from den to
food. In the slow eddies of the river, even the fish swam with manifest
despair, barely able to muster enough enthusiasm to chase tadpoles or water [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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