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WIND FROM THE ABYSS
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright й 1978 by Janet E. Morris
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Book
Baen Enterprises 8-10W. 36th Street New York, N.Y. 10018
First Baen printing, January, 1985. ISBN: 0-671-55932-X Cover art by Victoria Poyser Printed in the United States of America
Distributed by
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New York, N.Y. 10020
Contents
I. In Mourning for the Unrecotlected
II. The Wages of Forgetful ness
III. Seeking Stance in the Time
IV. The Gulf of Alternate Conceptions
V. Draw to Crux
VI. An Ordering of Affairs
VI!. Into the Abyss
VIII. The Passing of Khys
IX. The Law Within
X. In Deference to Owkahen
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FRDMTH
Author's Note
Since, at the beginning of this tale, I did not recollect myself nor retain even the slightest glftn-mer of such understanding as would have led me to an awareness of the significance of the various occurrences that transpired at the Lake of Horns then, I am adding this preface, though it was not part of my initial conception, that the meaningful-ness of the events described by "Khys's Estri" (as I have come to think of the shadow-self I was while the dharen held my skills and memory in abeyance) not be withheld from you as they were from me.
I knew myself not: I was Estri because the girl Carth supposedly found wandering in the forest stripped of comprehension and identity chose that name. There, perhaps, lies the greatest irony of all, that I named myself anew after Estri Hadrath diet Estrazi, who in reality I had once been. And perhaps it is not irony at all, but an expression of Khys's humor, an implied dissertation by him who structured my experiences, my very thoughts, for nearly two years, until his audacity drove him to bring together once more Sereth crill Tyris, past-Slayer, then the outlawed Ebvrasea, then arrar to the dharen himself; Chayin rendi Inekte, cahndor of Nemar, co-cahndor of the Taken Lands, chosen son of Tar-Kesa, and at that time Khys's puppet-vassal; and myself, former Well-Keepress, tiask of Nemar, and lastly becoming the chaldless outlaw who had come to judgment and endured ongoing retribution at the dharen's hands. To test his besting, his power over owkahen, the time-coming-to-be, did Khys put us together, all three, in his Day-Keepers' cityЧand from that moment onward, the Weathers of Life became fixed: siphoned into a
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singular future; sealed tight as a dead god in his mausoleum, whose every move but brought him closer to the summed total, death. So did the dharen Khys bespeak it, himself. . . .
In Mourning for the Unrecollected
The hulion hovered, wings aflap, at the window, butting its black wedge of a head against the pane. Its yellow eyes glowed cruelly, slit-pupiled. Its white fangs, gleaming, were each as long as my forearm.
I screamed.
Its tufted ears, flat against its head, twitched. Again and again, toothed mouth open wide, it battered at the window, roaring.
Once more I screamed, and ran stumbling to the far wall of my prison. I pounded upon the locked doors with my fists, pressing myself against the wood. Sobbing, I turned to face it.
The beast's ears flickered at the sound. Those jaws, which could have snapped me in half, closed. It cocked its head.
I trembled, caught in its gaze. I could retreat no farther. I sank to my knees, moaning, against the door frame.
The beast gave one final snort. Those wings, with a spread thrice the length of a tall man, snapped decisively, and it was gone.