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Sorcerer generals cast their swords, the surviving Sorcerers creating the four
die-shaped Stones, and finally the six Spirits rising up from the Transition.
Delrael rubbed the silent silver in his belt and thought of the
Earthspirits, wishing they would somehow communicate with him. Let him know
they were still alive.
The Tairan friezes were crumbling and weathered, caked with blown dust
and never cleaned. The city seemed strangely silent, restless and waiting.
Delrael saw windows in the towers, but they remained empty, revealing no
curious faces to greet the travelers.
"And now for something completely different," Journeyman mumbled.
Taire should have contained thousands of characters. Delrael heard no
activity, none of the clanking and bustle that had marked Sitnalta from a
distance. Instead, Taire cowered in a hush, comatose from being too close to
Scartaris.
The city's main gate stood tall and open, an ornate framework of
wrought iron showing leaves and flowers growing up out of the ground. But the
gate sagged on rusted hinges. Wind blew through the spidery ironwork, making
it hum. No one greeted -- or challenged -- them as they entered Taire.
"Either the Tairans aren't taking care of anything," Bryl said, "Or
this place is as dead as the land around it."
"Yoo hoo! Anybody home?" Journeyman called.
The Tairans had made full use of the limited resources of the
desolation. The houses were constructed of broken stone blasted up in the
upheavals of battle, decorated with frescoes painted into plaster made from
crushed limestone. The artists had used natural pigments, ochres and reds
found in the rocks, black from soot. Pieces of glistening obsidian were inlaid
in game-board patterns.
Some of the flat sides of buildings showed scenes of daily life -- not
epic battles, but pictures of bountiful harvests, lush forest terrain, large
gatherings for group games. History was depicted on the walls _outside_ of
Taire; inside, they looked to the future instead.
The architecture was open, with plenty of space for meetings. Wind
whispered through the buildings, weaving through open windows. Delicate metal
chimes hung on corners, tinkling at random.
As they travelled deeper into the city, the neglect became more
apparent. Many of the spectacular frescoes were chipped and faded, smeared
with an oily soot floating in the air. Delrael saw empty troughs under the
windows of some buildings, apparently intended to hold flowers.
On several larger buildings, crude doors, bars, and gates had recently
been added, looking clumsy and out of place.
The noise of a dripping fountain sounded loud in the Tairan silence.
Delrael put out his hand to catch the warm, rust-tinted water, but he did not
drink. The sculpture above the fountain was a wrought-iron bell, ornate but
silent. The fountain stood at an intersection of two streets with wide stone
buildings on either side. He realized that in the middle of the desolation
someone must have used magic to summon up water, but now even the fountain had
ceased.
Journeyman scooped up some of the puddled water and spread it on his
dry clay skin to moisten himself. He smiled in relief.
Vailret and Bryl sat down, but Delrael paced around the fountain,
shading his eyes and searching for signs of life. The afternoon sunlight was
bright and harsh. "I'm getting tired of this," he said.
In the shadows of one of the open buildings, he saw a figure standing
between two stone columns. Delrael strode toward the building. "Come here!" He
didn't know if the Tairan would hide or come to him.
To his surprise a thin, haggard woman stepped forward. At first she
appeared ancient, but he saw that she was not old at all, despite her sunken
and shadowed eyes. Dirt stained her tattered gray clothes -- but she seemed
unaware of all that. She took several jerky steps toward him, as if something
else moved her arms and legs.
"Where is everybody?" Delrael asked her. "What's going on here? This is
Taire -- what happened?"
She turned to face Delrael. Her eyes were milky white; the pupils and
irises had vanished, leaving a soulless blank expression that sent a shiver up
his spine. She never blinked.
Her voice sounded garbled, awkward. Her lower jaw moved up and down,
clacking her teeth together, but not in time with the words she tried to form.
Her tongue writhed around in her mouth, making sounds by brute force.
"Delrael. You are Delrael." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]