"Marc Laidlaw - An Evening's Honest Peril" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laidlaw Marc)

An Evening's Honest Peril

by Marc Laidlaw



Story Copyright (C) 2007, Marc Laidlaw.
Images Copyright (C) 2007, Rudy Rucker.
7,000 Words.




Sitting at the entrance to the Tomb of Abomnis, dangling her legs like tempting morsels over the dark and
moaning stony mouth, Jinrae thought she saw the head of a black-haired man rise into view at the crest of
the hilltop behind her. She leapt to her feet with her sword drawn and ready.

Echoing her startled cry, a raven swept up and over her, flapping twice and then gliding toward a distant
tumble of faint brownish buildings in the middle distance.

Stop jumping at shadows! she told herself.

Settling back down, she watched the black fleck merging with the evening sky. The sun had just gone
down beyond the town of CowperтАЩs Rest, pulling daylight after it, triggering lights in the villas. The
ravenspeck circled and landed somewhere in a farmerтАЩs field. Scattered red flowers nodded in unison,
bowing to a breeze she couldnтАЩt sense herself. In the far, far distance, an olive smudge gave little hint of
the horrid marsh it heralded.

Groans came from the tomb, groans and the rattling of chains to greet the coming night, but they struck
no answering note of fear in Jinrae. Once the sound would have chilled her, a weirdly welcome pang, but
these days, even in the worst places, she rarely found anything strong enough to cut through the
numbness that enwrapped her. Vague dreads wrestled in the back of her mind, ones she didnтАЩt care to
name. She felt she was seeing the seams of the world tonight.

Someone was coming. A silvery glint on polished mail faintly limned a figure stalking across the plain at a
pace that would have maddened her if sheтАЩd had to tolerate it. Thankfully, they would not be travelling
any great distance on foot tonightтАФalthough if it came to that, she had sufficient scrolls to quicken even
the slowest feet. Aye, she carried boots of speed and hasty syrup and portalismans; besides which,
numerous powerful friends would come to her summons, although she intended to rely on no resources
besides her own at this point. It was hard, alone, but better in the long run. The last few days had taught
her a great deal about her vulnerabilities, skills she had neglected through too much reliance on others.
Or, at least, on one other. Hard lessons, late in coming, but not lost on her.

Now here was a fresh face, an adventurer in unblemished silver armor. It was Aynglin, just as she had
seen him last, a bright orange plume bobbing from his helmetтАЩs crest. He had not put by his violet
trousers, nor the green slippers with curling toes; and she couldnтАЩt fault him for it, since it lent him a quite
distinctive (if not distinguished) appearance. She would be able to pick him out in almost any crowd.

His coat, however, was another matter: dark and oily, clearly stripped from a greater gullock, but with
patches of long greenish fur still clinging to the seamed hide.