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.It was not difficult to guess the cause.Now that Angavar had thrown off his mortal guise andallowed his identity to be known, there was no thing unliving or living, no entity either lorraly or eldritch,that could be near him and not be stirred by the presence of that elemental power.As birds and beastswere attracted by this fair company, so also were the incarnations of eldritch.They, who typically wouldhave fled or vanished in the blink of an eye, now showed themselves openly.Large numbers of wights were seen by the mortals of the retinue.Many more were visible to theanointed eyes of Ashalind, and she saw they were diverse: hideous and fair, malign, tricksy, andbeneficent.She shuddered, and was thankful that she rode in the company of one who might subduethem all, if he chose.Lesser wights crowded in rocky crevices or lingered on gravelly shingles by the brinks of winking pools.The waters of those pools would flurry momentarily.Sly eyes squinted from beneath sills.Beside apebbly beck, the ferns abruptly twitched and nodded, as if something had waited among them, but wasalready gone.Seated high on giant boulders, in places impossible for mortals to reach save bymountaineering or the use of sildron, pale damsels serenely combed their hair.At times, faint snatches ofmusic rose from beneath the horses' hooves.Every shadow, every gnarled trunk, every crag seemedinherently, subtly, to harbor some manifestation.Every well and water sheltered some weird distillation,Page 291 and if one watched for long enough, the lines of the land might shift to reveal another form.Even when thewind soughed through the pine needles, it sang with voices other than its own.Angavar was fully aware of the attention, and permitted it, and did not ask for salutations or otheracknowledgments of his sovereignty.That was not the way of the Faêran.That he alone was the ultimatesovereign of gramarye was incontrovertible.It needed no further proof, no validation.From horizon to horizon, this country afforded an almost unimpeded view of the sky.The cloudscapearrayed it with awesome spectacle.Purple-gray cumulonimbi were piling up to great heights, crowding infrom the west, borne on the back of a keen salt wind.They overtook the sun, blotting it out, haloed insilver by its hidden light.A dim veil of shadow crept across the landscape.Three strands of hair escapedfrom Ashalind's headdress and fluttered about her cheeks.A heaviness weighed down the air, apresentiment of rain.Like the quick stab of a pin, a single miniature water drop fell on the back of herhand.Angavar was riding ahead of her, leading the party, for the country was so rocky that they must progressin single file.The goshawk rode on his shoulder.She saw Angavar glance skyward.That was all he didnot gesture with his hands, nor did he call out some incantation.If he murmured any words at all, she wasunable to catch them.The wind veered.It swung around to the south, and now, overhead, the towering castles of mist weremoving with it, as though on wheels.They billowed and altered shape, seeming to slowly explode fromwithin and reinvent themselves in fantastic forms.Ragged holes and rents appeared, letting sunlight fallthrough in patches.As the rain clouds drew away from the sun's cool face, a wash of pale gold spilledover the stony heights of Arcdur, rinsing bluish shadows through chinks of rock.Her servants rode at her heels.She heard them murmur, "Behold, he has averted the storm." Her maidsand all the Dainnan remained in awe of him, of what he had become.Angavar turned in his saddle andsmiled at Ashalind, and at the brilliance of that smile her heart was lit, and sped like a hunted thing."Do we continue upon the right path?" he asked.She nodded, endeavoring to calm her pulse."I believe so." And indeed, recollection and some innervoice told her that their heading was correct, that somewhere to the north lay the place from which shehad stumbled in the rain, long ago, driven from the delights of the Fair Realm of her own volition, grippedby a need to live in the same world as one whose face she had glimpsed through a window, more than amillennium ago.Soon she would pass through the Gate at Angavar's side.Then she would ride into his world, a fantasticworld, wild and strange, where dwelled her family, and her friends, and all the Talith who had abandonedAvlantia.She would meet them again, embrace them.And this time, she would stay.The path that was not a path widened, and Angavar dropped back beside her.A small rock-goblinjumped squeaking from beneath the hooves of his Faêran steed.Angavar's laugh was captivating,contagious, and she must laugh with him.But the landscape of Arcdur continued to roll monotonously by, offering no familiar sign to Ashalind."Is it possible," she said anxiously, "that the outward appearance of the Gate has changed during theyears since I last saw it?"Page 292 "Possible," Angavar said, "but not probable.Wind and weather would not alter the stones much in sucha short span, although if the ground has shifted, the angles of the rocks may have subtly altered somemay have fallen.""But if a trembling of the ground has moved the foundations of the Gateposts, then the Gate itself mayhave snapped shut or been thrown wide open!""Not so.The gramarye of the traverses is not easily tampered with.No mere quaking of the ground mayopen or close a Gate between the worlds.Be assured of it." «» «» «» It had taken several days for Ashalind to cross this region of Arcdur on foot, wandering pathless andweak from hunger.This time, the sun set only once upon her journey.That night they rode on for manyleagues under the stars until the mortal riders grew weary.The sky over Arcdur was filled with a jeweled splendor so brilliant, so vast, it was as though the landwere roofed by a dome thickly encrusted with crystals in a multitude of sizes and intensities; prisms thatsplit their own light into every twinkling color."There once was a time," said Angavar as they rode on, "when the peoples of a world now in ruins dweltin mighty cities so wreathed about with smoke and fume, nightly so ablaze with light powered by theharnessing of the energies of levin-bolts, that they could but dimly view the stars, if at all.These people ofan era long past could not understand why their ancient poets praised the glories of the night, for theysaw the stars merely as faded pinpricks in the crown of the firmament.Only by journeying to the highestdesert places, furthest from their cities and closest to the sky, were they able to behold their stars as wenow behold these of Erith [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]
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.It was not difficult to guess the cause.Now that Angavar had thrown off his mortal guise andallowed his identity to be known, there was no thing unliving or living, no entity either lorraly or eldritch,that could be near him and not be stirred by the presence of that elemental power.As birds and beastswere attracted by this fair company, so also were the incarnations of eldritch.They, who typically wouldhave fled or vanished in the blink of an eye, now showed themselves openly.Large numbers of wights were seen by the mortals of the retinue.Many more were visible to theanointed eyes of Ashalind, and she saw they were diverse: hideous and fair, malign, tricksy, andbeneficent.She shuddered, and was thankful that she rode in the company of one who might subduethem all, if he chose.Lesser wights crowded in rocky crevices or lingered on gravelly shingles by the brinks of winking pools.The waters of those pools would flurry momentarily.Sly eyes squinted from beneath sills.Beside apebbly beck, the ferns abruptly twitched and nodded, as if something had waited among them, but wasalready gone.Seated high on giant boulders, in places impossible for mortals to reach save bymountaineering or the use of sildron, pale damsels serenely combed their hair.At times, faint snatches ofmusic rose from beneath the horses' hooves.Every shadow, every gnarled trunk, every crag seemedinherently, subtly, to harbor some manifestation.Every well and water sheltered some weird distillation,Page 291 and if one watched for long enough, the lines of the land might shift to reveal another form.Even when thewind soughed through the pine needles, it sang with voices other than its own.Angavar was fully aware of the attention, and permitted it, and did not ask for salutations or otheracknowledgments of his sovereignty.That was not the way of the Faêran.That he alone was the ultimatesovereign of gramarye was incontrovertible.It needed no further proof, no validation.From horizon to horizon, this country afforded an almost unimpeded view of the sky.The cloudscapearrayed it with awesome spectacle.Purple-gray cumulonimbi were piling up to great heights, crowding infrom the west, borne on the back of a keen salt wind.They overtook the sun, blotting it out, haloed insilver by its hidden light.A dim veil of shadow crept across the landscape.Three strands of hair escapedfrom Ashalind's headdress and fluttered about her cheeks.A heaviness weighed down the air, apresentiment of rain.Like the quick stab of a pin, a single miniature water drop fell on the back of herhand.Angavar was riding ahead of her, leading the party, for the country was so rocky that they must progressin single file.The goshawk rode on his shoulder.She saw Angavar glance skyward.That was all he didnot gesture with his hands, nor did he call out some incantation.If he murmured any words at all, she wasunable to catch them.The wind veered.It swung around to the south, and now, overhead, the towering castles of mist weremoving with it, as though on wheels.They billowed and altered shape, seeming to slowly explode fromwithin and reinvent themselves in fantastic forms.Ragged holes and rents appeared, letting sunlight fallthrough in patches.As the rain clouds drew away from the sun's cool face, a wash of pale gold spilledover the stony heights of Arcdur, rinsing bluish shadows through chinks of rock.Her servants rode at her heels.She heard them murmur, "Behold, he has averted the storm." Her maidsand all the Dainnan remained in awe of him, of what he had become.Angavar turned in his saddle andsmiled at Ashalind, and at the brilliance of that smile her heart was lit, and sped like a hunted thing."Do we continue upon the right path?" he asked.She nodded, endeavoring to calm her pulse."I believe so." And indeed, recollection and some innervoice told her that their heading was correct, that somewhere to the north lay the place from which shehad stumbled in the rain, long ago, driven from the delights of the Fair Realm of her own volition, grippedby a need to live in the same world as one whose face she had glimpsed through a window, more than amillennium ago.Soon she would pass through the Gate at Angavar's side.Then she would ride into his world, a fantasticworld, wild and strange, where dwelled her family, and her friends, and all the Talith who had abandonedAvlantia.She would meet them again, embrace them.And this time, she would stay.The path that was not a path widened, and Angavar dropped back beside her.A small rock-goblinjumped squeaking from beneath the hooves of his Faêran steed.Angavar's laugh was captivating,contagious, and she must laugh with him.But the landscape of Arcdur continued to roll monotonously by, offering no familiar sign to Ashalind."Is it possible," she said anxiously, "that the outward appearance of the Gate has changed during theyears since I last saw it?"Page 292 "Possible," Angavar said, "but not probable.Wind and weather would not alter the stones much in sucha short span, although if the ground has shifted, the angles of the rocks may have subtly altered somemay have fallen.""But if a trembling of the ground has moved the foundations of the Gateposts, then the Gate itself mayhave snapped shut or been thrown wide open!""Not so.The gramarye of the traverses is not easily tampered with.No mere quaking of the ground mayopen or close a Gate between the worlds.Be assured of it." «» «» «» It had taken several days for Ashalind to cross this region of Arcdur on foot, wandering pathless andweak from hunger.This time, the sun set only once upon her journey.That night they rode on for manyleagues under the stars until the mortal riders grew weary.The sky over Arcdur was filled with a jeweled splendor so brilliant, so vast, it was as though the landwere roofed by a dome thickly encrusted with crystals in a multitude of sizes and intensities; prisms thatsplit their own light into every twinkling color."There once was a time," said Angavar as they rode on, "when the peoples of a world now in ruins dweltin mighty cities so wreathed about with smoke and fume, nightly so ablaze with light powered by theharnessing of the energies of levin-bolts, that they could but dimly view the stars, if at all.These people ofan era long past could not understand why their ancient poets praised the glories of the night, for theysaw the stars merely as faded pinpricks in the crown of the firmament.Only by journeying to the highestdesert places, furthest from their cities and closest to the sky, were they able to behold their stars as wenow behold these of Erith [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]