Karl Edward Wagner - Kane 05 - Night Winds

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Night Winds

Karl Edward Wagner

To Manly Wade Wellman--

Scholar and Gentleman,

Writer and man,

Friend--

It takes a giant to encompass all these qualities;

And we'll see no more of giants.

Contents

UNDERTOW Prologue

I. Seekers in the Night

II. "Never, Dessylyn"

III. At the Inn of the Blue Window

IV. A Ship Will Sail...

V. Wizard's Pane

VI. Night and Fog

VII. "He'll Have to Die..."

VIII. Drink a Final Cup...

TWO SUNS SETTING

I. Alone with the Night Winds

II. Two Who Met by Firelight

III. Dead Man's Crown

IV. A Final Coronation

THE DARK MUSE

Prologue

I. Poet in the Night

II. The Muse of Dream

III. In the Hour Before Dawn

IV. Across the Threshold of Dream

V. Cruel Mystery of Her Smile

RAVEN'S EYRIE

Prologue

I. Ridges of Autumn

II. A Guest Returns

III. Ravens Fly by Night

IV. Hounds and Carrion Crows

V. To Chase the Dead

VI. In Seven Years You'll Hear a Bell

VII. Raven's Secret

VIII. And That Will Be Your Call to Hell...

IX. Broken Barricades

X. Demonlord's Moon

LYNORTIS REPRISE

I. Hunters in the Forest

II. The Key

III. As Night Closes

IV. The Hand of Kane

V. Hunters in the Night

VI. In the Temple of Peace

VII. Echoes

VIII. The Bringer of Peace

SING A LAST SONG OF VALDESE

I. The Girl Beneath the Oak

II. The Inn by the Side of the Road

III. "Do You Know the Song of Valdese?"

UNDERTOW

Prologue

"She was brought in not long past dark," wheezed the custodian, scuttling

crab-like along the rows of silent, shrouded slabs. "The city guard found her,

carried her in. Sounds like the one you're asking about."

He paused beside one of the waist-high stone tables and lifted its filthy

sheet. A girl's contorted face turned sightlessly upward--painted and rouged,

a ghastly strumpet's mask against the pallor of her skin. Clots of congealed

blood hung like a necklace of dark rubies along the gash across her throat.

The cloaked man shook his head curtly within the shadow of his hood, and the

moon-faced custodian let the sheet drop back.

"Not the one I was thinking of," he murmured apologetically. "It gets

confusing sometimes, you know, what with so many, and them coming and going

all the while." Sniffling in the cool air, be pushed his rotund bulk between

the narrow aisles, careful to avoid the stained and filthy shrouds. Looming

over his guide, the cloaked figure followed in silence.

Low-flamed lamps cast dismal light across the necrotorium, of Carsultyal.

Smouldering braziers spewed fitful, heavy fumed clouds of clinging incense

that merged with the darkness and the stones and the decay--its cloying

sweetness more nauseating than the stench of death it embraced. Through the

thick gloom echoed the monotonous drip-drip-drip of melting ice, at times

chorused suggestively by some heavier splash. The municipal morgue was crowded

tonight--as always. Only a few of its hundred or more slate beds stood dark

and bare; the others all displayed anonymous shapes bulging beneath blotched

sheets--some protruding at curious angles, as if these restless dead struggled

to burst free of the coarse folds. Night now hung over Carsultyal, but within

this windowless subterranean chamber it was always night. In shadow pierced

only by the sickly flame of funereal lamps, the nameless dead of Carsultyal

lay unmourned--waited the required interval of time for someone to claim them,

else to be carted off to some unmarked communal grave beyond the city walls.

"Here, I believe," announced the custodian. "Yes. I'll just get a lamp."

"Show me," demanded a voice from within the hood.

The portly official glanced at the other uneasily. There was an aura of power,

of blighted majesty about the cloaked figure that boded ill in arrogant

Carsultyal, whose clustered, star-reaching towers were whispered to be

overawed by cellars whose depths plunged farther still. "Light's poor back

here," he protested, drawing back the tattered shroud.

The visitor cursed low in his throat--an inhuman sound touched less by grief

than feral rage.

The face that stared at them with too wide eyes had been beautiful in life; in

death it was purpled, bloated, contorted in pain. Dark blood stained the tip

of her protruding tongue, and her neck seemed bent at an unnatural angle. A

gown of light-colored silk was stained and disordered. She lay supine, hands

clenched into tight fists at her side.

"The city guard found her?" repeated the visitor in a harsh voice.

"Yes, just after nightfall. In the park overlooking the harbor. She was

hanging from a branch--there in the grove with all the white flowers every

spring. Must have just happened--said her body was warm as life, though

there's a chill to the sea breeze tonight. Looks like she done it

herself--climbed out on the branch, tied the noose, and jumped off. Wonder why

they do it--her as pretty a young thing as I've seen brought in, and took well

care of, too."

The stranger stood in rigid silence, staring at the strangled girl.

"Will you come back in the morning to claim her, or do you want to wait

upstairs?" suggested the custodian.

"I'll take her now."

The plump attendant fingered the gold coin his visitor had tossed him a short

time before. His lips tightened in calculation. Often there appeared at the

necrotorium those who wished to remove bodies clandestinely for strange and

secret reasons--a circumstance which made lucrative this disagreeable office.

"Can't allow that," he argued. "There's laws and forms--you shouldn't even be

here at this hour. They'll be wanting their questions answered. And there's

fees..."

With a snarl of inexpressible fury, the stranger turned on him. The sudden

movement flung back his hood.

The caretaker for the first time saw his visitor's eyes. He had breath for a

short bleat of terror, before the dirk he did not see smashed through his

heart.

Workers the next day, puzzling over the custodian's disappearance, were

shocked to discover, on examining the night's new tenants for the necrotorium,

that he had not disappeared after all.

Seekers in the Night

There--he heard the sound again.

Mavrsal left off his disgruntled contemplation of the near-empty wine bottle

and stealthily came to his feet. The captain of the Tuab was alone in his

cabin, and the hour was late. For hours the only sounds close at hand had been

the slap of waves on the barnacled bull, the creak of cordage, and the dull

thud of the caravel's aged timbers against the quay. Then had come a soft

footfall, a muffled fumbling among the deck gear outside his half-open door.

Too loud for rats--a thief, then?

Grimly Mavrsal unsheathed his heavy cutlass and caught up a lantern. He

catfooted onto the deck, reflecting bitterly over his worthless crew. From

cook to first mate, they had deserted his ship a few days before, angered over

wages months unpaid. An unseasonable squall had forced them to jettison most

of their cargo of copper ingots, and the Tuab had limped into the harbor of

Carsultyal with shredded sails, a cracked mainmast, a dozen new leaks from

wrenched timbers, and the rest of her worn fittings in no better shape.

Instead of the expected wealth, the decimated cargo had brought in barely

enough capital to cover the expense of refitting. Mavrsal argued that until

refitted, the Tuab was unseaworthy, and that once repairs were complete,

another cargo could be found (somehow), and then wages long in arrears could

be paid--with a bonus for patient loyalty. The crew cared neither for his

logic nor his promises and defected amidst stormy threats.

Had one of them returned to carry out...? Mavrsal hunched his thick shoulders

truculently and hefted the cutlass. The master of the Tuab had never run from

a brawl, much less a sneak thief or slinking assassin.

Night skies of autumn were bright over Carsultyal, making the lantern almost

unneeded. Mavrsal surveyed the soft shadows of the caravel's deck, his brown

eyes narrowed and alert beneath shaggy brows. But he heard the low sobbing

almost at once, so there was no need to prowl about the deck.

He strode quickly to the mound of torn sail and rigging at the far rail. "All

right, come out of that!" he rumbled, beckoning with the tip of his blade to

the half-seen figure crouched against the rail. The sobbing choked into

silence. Mavrsal prodded the canvas with an impatient boot. "Out of there,

damn it!" he repeated.

The canvas gave a wriggle and a pair of sandaled feet backed out, followed by

bare legs and rounded hips that strained against the bunched fabric of her

gown. Mavrsal pursed his lips thoughtfully as the girl emerged and stood

before him. There were no tears in the eyes that met his gaze. The

aristocratic face was defiant, although the flared nostrils and tightly

pressed lips hinted that her defiance was a mask. Nervous fingers smoothed the

silken gown and adjusted her cloak of dark brown wool.

"Inside." Mavrsal gestured with his cutlass to the lighted cabin.

"I wasn't doing anything," she protested.

"Looking for something to steal."

"I'm not a thief,"

"We'll talk inside." He nudged her forward, and sullenly she complied.

Following her through the door, Mavrsal locked it behind him and replaced the

lantern. Returning the cutlass to its scabbard, he dropped back into his chair

and contemplated his discovery.

"I'm no thief," she repeated, fidgeting with the fastenings of her cloak.

No, he decided, she probably wasn't--not that there was much aboard a decrepit

caravel like the Tuab to attract a thief. But why had she crept aboard? She

was a harlot, he assumed--what other business drew a girl of her beauty alone

into the night of Carsultyal's waterfront? And she was beautiful, he noted

with growing surprise. A tangle of loosely bound red hair fell over her

shoulders and framed a face whose pale-skinned classic beauty was enhanced

rather than flawed by a dust of freckles across her thin-bridged nose. Eyes of

startling green gazed at him with a defiance that seemed somehow haunted. She

was tall, willowy. Before she settled the dark cloak about her shoulders, he

had noted the high, conical breasts and softly rounded figure beneath the

clinging gown of green silk. An emerald of good quality graced her hand, and

about her neck she wore a wide collar of dark leather and red silk from which

glinted a larger emerald.

No, thought Mavrsal--again revising his judgment--she was too lovely, lieu

garments too costly, for the quality of street tart who plied these waters.

His bewilderment deepened. "Why were you on board, then?" he demanded in a

manner less abrupt.

Her eyes darted about the cabin. "I don't know," she returned.

Mavrsal grunted in vexation. "Were you trying to stow away?"

She responded with a small shrug. "I suppose so."

The sea captain gave a snort and drew his stocky frame erect. "Then you're a

damn fool--or must think I'm one! Stow away on a battered old warrior like the

Tuab, when there's plainly no cargo to put to sea, and any eye can see the

damn ship's being refitted! Why, that ring you're wearing would book passage

to any port you'd care to see, and on a first-class vessel! And to wander

these streets at this hour! Well, maybe that's your business, and maybe you

aren't careful of your trade, but there's scum along, these waterfront dives

that would slit a wench's throat as soon as pay her! Vaul! I've been in port

three days and four nights, and already I've heard talk of enough depraved

murders of pretty girls like you to--"

"Will you stop it!" she hissed in a tight voice. Slumping into the cabin's one

other chair, she propped her elbows onto the rough table and jammed her fists

against her forehead. Russet tresses tumbled over her face like a veil, so

that Mavrsal could not read the emotions etched there. In the hollow of the

cloak's parted folds, her breasts trembled with the quick pounding of her

heart.

Sighing, he drained the last of the wine into his mug and pushed the pewter

vessel toward the girl. There was another bottle in his cupboard; rising, fie

drew it out along with another cup. She was carefully sipping from the

proffered mug when he resumed his place.

"Look, what's your name?" he asked her.

She paused so tensely before replying, "Dessylyn."

The name meant nothing to Mavrsal, although as the tension waxed and receded

from her bearing, he understood that she had been concerned that her name

would bring recognition.

Mavrsal smoothed his close-trimmed brown beard. There was a rough-and-ready

toughness about his face that belied the fact that he had not quite reached

thirty years, and women liked to tell him his rugged features were handsome.

His left ear--badly scarred in a tavern brawl--gave him some concern, but it

lay hidden beneath the unruly mass of his hair. "Well, Dessylyn," he grinned.

"My name's Mavrsal, and this is my ship. And if you're worried about finding a

place, you can spend the night here."

There was dread in her face. "I can't."

Mavrsal frowned, thinking he had been snubbed, and started to make an angry

retort.

"I dare not... stay here too long," Dessylyn interposed, fear glowing in her

eyes.

Mavrsal made an exasperated grimace. "Girl, you sneaked aboard my ship like a

thief, but I'm inclined to forget your trespassing. Now, my cabin's cozy,

girls tell me I'm a pleasant companion, and I'm generous with my coin. So why

wander off into the night, where in the first filthy alley some pox-ridden

drunk is going to take for free what I'm willing to pay for?"

"You don't understand!"

"Very plainly I don't." He watched her fidget with the pewter mug for a

moment, then added pointedly, "Besides, you can hide here."

"By the gods! I wish I could!" she cried out. "If only I could hide from him!"

Brows knit in puzzlement, Mavrsal listened to the strangled sobs that rose

muffled through the tousled auburn mane. He had not expected so unsettling a

response to his probe. Thinking that every effort to penetrate the mystery

surrounding Dessylyn only left him further in the dark, he measured out

another portion of wine--and wondered if he should apologize for something.

"I suppose that's why I did it," she was mumbling. "I was able to slip away

for a short while. So I walked along the shore, and I saw all the ships poised

for flight along the harbor, and I thought how wonderful to be free like that!

To step on board some strange ship, and to sail into the night to some unknown

land--where he could never find me! To be free! Oh, I knew I could never

escape him like that, but still when I walked by your ship, I wanted to try! I

thought I could go through the motions--pretend I was escaping him!

"Only I know there's no escape from Kane!"

"Kane!" Mavrsal breathed a curse. Anger toward the girl's tormentor that had

started to flare within him abruptly shuddered under the chill blast of fear.

Kane! Even to a stranger in Carsultyal, greatest city of mankind's dawn, that

name evoked the spectre of terror. A thousand tales were whispered of Kane;

even in this city of sorcery, where the lost knowledge of prehuman Earth had

been recovered to forge man's stolen civilization, Kane was a figure of awe

and mystery. Despite uncounted tales of strange and disturbing nature, almost

nothing was known for certain of the man save that for generations his tower

had brooded over Carsultyal. There he followed the secret paths along which

his dark genius led him, and the hand of Kane was rarely seen (though it was

often felt) in the affairs of Carsultyal. Brother sorcerers and masters of

powers temporal alike spoke his name with dread, and those who dared to make

him an enemy seldom were given Ion., to repent their audacity.

"Are you Kane's woman?" he blurted out.

Her voice was bitter. "So Kane would have it. His mistress. His possession.

Once, though, I was my own woman--before I was fool enough to let Kane draw me

into his web!"

"Can't you leave him--leave this city?"

"You don't know the power Kane commands! Who would risk his anger to help me?"

Mavrsal squared his shoulders. "I owe no allegiance to Kane, nor to his

minions in Carsultyal. This ship may be weathered and leaky, but she's mine,

and I sail her where I please. If you're set on--"

Fear twisted her face. "Don't!" she gasped. "Don't even hint this to me! You

can't realize what power Kane--

"What was that!"

Mavrsal tensed. From the night sounded the soft buffeting of great leathery

wings. Claws scraped against the timbers of the deck outside. Suddenly the

lantern flames seemed to shrink and waver; shadow fell deep within the cabin.

"He's missed me!" Dessylyn moaned. "He's sent it to bring me back!"

His belly cold, Mavrsal drew his cutlass and turned stiffly toward the door.

The lamp flames were no more than a dying blue gleam. Beyond the door a

shuffling weight caused a loosened plank to groan dully.

"No! Please!" she cried in desperation. "There's nothing you can do! Stay back

from the door!"

Mavrsal snarled, his face reflecting the rage and terror that gripped him.

Dessylyn pulled at his arm to draw him back.

He had locked the cabin door; a heavy iron bolt secured the stout timbers. Now

an unseen hand was drawing the bolt aside. Silently, slowly, the iron bar

turned and crept back along its mounting brackets. The lock snapped open. With

nightmarish suddenness, the door swung wide.

Darkness hung in the passageway. Burning eyes regarded them. Advanced.

Dessylyn screamed hopelessly. Numb with terror, Mavrsal clumsily swung his

blade toward the glowing eyes. Blackness reached out, hurled him with

irresistible strength across the cabin. Pain burst across his consciousness,

and then was only the darkness.

"Never, Dessylyn"

She shuddered and drew the fur cloak tighter about her thin shoulders. Would

there ever again be a time when she wouldn't feel this remorseless cold?

Kane, his cruel face haggard in the glow of the brazier, stood hunched over

the crimson alembic. How red the coals made his hair and beard; how sinister

was the blue flame of his eyes... He craned intently forward to trap the last

few drops of the phosphorescent elixir in a chalice of ruby crystal.

He had labored sleepless hours over the glowing liquid, she knew. Hours

precious to her because these were hours of freedom--a time when she might

escape his loathed attention. Her lips pressed a tight, bloodless line. The

abominable formulae from which he prepared the elixir! Dessylyn thought again

of the mutilated corpse of the young girl Kane had directed his servant to

carry off. Again a spasm slid across her lithe form.

"Why won't you let me go?" she heard herself ask dully for the... how many

times had she asked that?

"I'll not let you go, Dessylyn," Kane replied in a tired voice. "You know

that."

"Someday I'll leave you."

"No, Dessylyn. You'll never leave me."

"Someday."

"Never, Dessylyn."

"Why, Kane!"

With painful care, he allowed a few drops of an amber liqueur to fall into the

glowing chalice. Blue flame hovered over its surface.

"Why!"

"Because I love you, Dessylyn."

A bitter sob, parody of laughter, shook her throat. "You love me." She

enclosed a hopeless scream in those slow, grinding syllables.

"Kane, can I ever make you understand how utterly I loathe you?"

"Perhaps. But I love you, Dessylyn."

The sobbing laugh returned.

Glancing at her in concern, Kane carefully extended the chalice toward her.

"Drink this. Quickly--before the nimbus dies."

She looked at him through eyes dark with horror. "Another bitter draught of

some foul drug to bind me to you?"

"Whatever you wish to call it."

"I won't drink it."

"Yes, Dessylyn, you will drink it."

His killer's eyes held her with bonds of eternal ice. Mechanically she

accepted the crimson chalice, let its phosphorescent liqueur pass between her

lips, seep down her throat.

Kane sighed and took the empty goblet from her listless grip. His massive

frame seemed to shudder from fatigue, and he passed a broad hand across his

eyes. Blood rimmed their dark hollows.

"I'll leave you, Kane."

The sea wind gusted through the tower window and swirled the long red hair

about his haunted face.

"Never, Dessylyn."

III

At the Inn of the Blue Window

He called himself Dragar...

Had the girl not walked past him seconds before, he probably would not have

interfered when he heard her scream. Or perhaps he would have. A stranger to

Carsultyal, nonetheless the barbarian youth had passed time enough in

mankind's lesser cities to be wary of cries for help in the night and to think

twice before plunging into dark alleys to join in an unseen struggle. But

there was a certain pride in the chivalric ideals of his heritage, along with

a confidence in the hard muscle of his sword arm and in the strange blade he

carried.

Thinking of the lithe, white limbs he had glimpsed--the patrician beauty of

the face that coolly returned his curious stare as she came toward him--Dragar

unsheathed the heavy blade at his hip and dashed back along the street be had

just entered.

There was moonlight enough to see, although the alley was well removed from

the nearest flaring streetlamp. Cloak torn away, her gown ripped from her

shoulders, the girl writhed in the grasp of two thugs. A third tough warned by

the rush of the barbarian's boots, angrily spun to face him, sword streaking

for the youth's belly.

Dragar laughed and flung the lighter blade aside with a powerful blow of his

sword. Scarcely seeming to pause in his attack, he gashed his assailant's arm

with an upward swing, and as the other's blade faltered, he split the thug's

skull. One of the two who held the girl lunged forward, but Dragar sidestepped

his rush, and with a sudden thrust sent his sword ripping into the man's

chest. The remaining assailant shoved the girl against the barbarian's legs,

whirled, and fled down the alley.

Ignoring the fugitive, Dragar helped the stunned girl to her feet. Terror yet

twisted her face, as she distractedly arranged the torn bodice of her silken

gown. Livid scratches streaked the pale skin of her breasts, and a bruise was

swelling out her lip. Dragar caught up her fallen cloak and draped it over her

shoulders.

"Thank you," she breathed in a shaky whisper, speaking at last.

"My pleasure," he rumbled. "Killing rats is good exercise. Are you all right,

though?"

She nodded, then clutched his arm for support.

"The hell you are! There's a tavern close by, girl. Come--I've silver enough

for a brandy to put the fire back in your heart."

She looked as if she might refuse, were her knees steadier. In a daze, the

girl let him half-carry her into the Inn of the Blue Window. There he led her

to an unoccupied booth and called for brandy.

"What's your name?" he asked, after she had tasted the heady liquor.

"Dessylyn."

He framed her name with silent lips to feel its sound. "I'm called Dragar," he

told her. "My home lies among the mountains far south of here, though it's

been a few years since last I hunted with my clansmen. Wanderlust drew me

away, and since then I've followed this banner or another's--sometimes just

the shadow of my own flapping cloak. Then, after hearing tales enough to dull

my ears, I decided to see for myself if Carsultyal is the wonder men boast her

to be. You a stranger here as well?"

She shook her head. When the color returned to her cheeks, her face seemed

less aloof.

"Thought you might be. Else you'd know better than to wander the streets of

Carsultyal after nightfall. Must be something important for you to take the

risk."

The lift of her shoulders was casual, though her face remained guarded. "No

errand... but it was important to me."

Dragar's look was questioning.

"I wanted to... oh, just to be alone, to get away for a while. Lose myself,

maybe--I don't know. I didn't think anyone would dare touch me if they knew

who I was."

"Your fame must be held somewhat less in awe among these gutter rats than you

imagined,'' offered Dragar wryly.

"All men fear the name of Kane!" Dessylyn shot back bitterly.

"Kane!" The name exploded from his lips in amazement. What had this girl to

do...? But Dragar looked again at her sophisticated beauty, her luxurious

attire, and understanding dawned. Angrily he became aware that the tavern

uproar had become subdued on the echo of his outburst. Several faces had

turned to him, their expressions uneasy, calculating.

The barbarian clapped a hand to his swordhilt. "Here's a man who doesn't fear

a name!" he announced. "I've heard something of Carsultyal's most dreaded

sorcerer, but his name means less than a fart to me! There's steel in this

sword that can slice through the best your world-famed master smiths can

forge, and it thrives on the gore of magicians. I call the blade Wizard's

Bare, and there are souls in Hell who will swear that its naming is no boast!"

Dessylyn stared at him in sudden fascination.

And what came after, Dessylyn?

I... I'm not sure... My mind--I was in a state of shock, I suppose. I remember

holding his head for what seemed like forever. And then I remember sponging

off the blood with water from the wooden lavabo, and the water was so cold and

so red, so red. I must have put on my clothes... Yes, and I remember the city

and walking and all those faces... All those faces... they stared at me, some

of them. Stated and looked away, stared and looked compassionate, stared and

looked curious, stared and made awful suggestions... And some just ignored me,

didn't see me at all. I can't think which faces were the most cruel... I

walked, walked so long... I remember the pain... I remember my tears, and the

pain when there were no more tears... I remember... My mind was dazed... My

memory... I can't remember...

A Ship Will Sail...

He looked up from his work and saw her standing there on the quay--watching

him, her face a strange play of intensity and indecision. Mavrsal grunted in

surprise and straightened from his carpentry. She might have been a phantom,

so silently had she crept upon him.

"I had to see if... if you were all right," Dessylyn told him with an

uncertain smile.

"I am--aside from a crack on my skull," Mavrsal answered, eyeing her

dubiously.

By the dawnlight he had crawled from beneath the overturned furnishings of his

cabin. Blood matted his thick hair at the back of his skull, and his head

throbbed with a deafening ache, so that he had sat dumbly for a long while,

trying to recollect the events of the night. Something had come through the

door, had hurled him aside like a spurned doll. And the girl had

vanished--carried off by the demon? Her warning had been for him; for herself

she evidenced not fear, only resigned despair.

Or had some of his men returned to carry out their threats? Had too much wine,

the blow on his head...? But no, Mavrsal knew better. His assailants would

have robbed him, made certain of his death--had any human agency attacked him.

She had called herself a sorcerer's mistress, and it had been sorcery that

spread its black wings over his caravel. Now the girl had returned, and

Mavrsal's greeting was tempered by his awareness of the danger which shadowed

her presence.

Dessylyn must have known his thoughts. She backed away, as if to turn and go.

"Wait!" he called suddenly.

"I don't want to endanger you any further."

Mavrsal's quick temper responded. "Danger! Kane can bugger with his demons in

Hell, for all I care! My skull was too thick for his creature to split, and if

he wants to try his hand in person, I'm here to offer him the chance!"

There was gladness in her wide eyes as Dessylyn stopped toward him. "His

necromancies have exhausted him," she assured the other. "Kane will sleep for

hours yet."

Mavrsal handed her over the rail with rough gallantry. "Then perhaps you'll

join me in my cabin. It's grown too dark for carpentry, and I'd like to talk

with you. After last night, I think I deserve to have some questions answered,

anyway."

He struck fire to a lamp and turned to find her balanced at the edge of a

chair, watching him nervously. "What sort of questions?" she asked in an

uneasy tone.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Mavrsal made a vague gesture. "Why everything. Why did you get involved with

this sorcerer? Why does he hold to you, if you hate him so? Why can't you

leave him?"

She gave him a sad smile that left him feeling naïve. "Kane is... a

fascinating man; there is a certain magnetism about him. And I won't deny the

attraction his tremendous power and wealth held for me. Does it matter? It's

enough to say that there was a time when we met and I fell under Kane's spell.

It may be that I loved him once--but I've since hated too long and to deeply

to remember."

"But Kane continues to love me in his way. Love! His is the love of a miser

for his hoard, the love of a connoisseur for some exquisitely wrought carving,

the love a spider feels for its imprisoned prey! I'm his treasure, his

possession--and what concern are the feelings of a lifeless object to its

owner? Would the curious circumstance that his prized statue might hate him

lessen the pleasure its owner derives from its possession?

"And leave him?" Her voice broke. "By the gods, don't you think I've tried?"

His thoughts in a turmoil, Mavrsal studied the girl's haunted face. "But why

accept defeat? Past failure doesn't mean you can't try again. If you're free

to roam the streets of Carsultyal at night, your feet can take you farther

still. I see no chain clamped to that collar you wear."

"Not all chains are visible."

"So I've heard, though I've never believed it. A weak will can imagine its own

fetters."

"Kane won't let me leave him."

"Kane's power doesn't reach a tenth so far as he believes."

"There are men who would dispute that, if the dead cared to share the wisdom

that came to them too late."

Challenge glinted in the girl's green eyes as they held his. Mavrsal felt the

spell of her beauty, and his manhood answered. "A ship sails where its master

wills it--may the winds and the tides and perils of the sea be damned!"

Her face craned closer. Tendrils of her auburn hair touched his arm. "There is

courage in your words. But you know little of Kane's power."

He laughed recklessly. "Let's say I'm not cowed by his name."

From the belt of her gown, Dessylyn unfastened a small scrip. She tossed the

leather pouch toward him.

Catching it, Mavrsal untied the braided thong and dumped its contents onto his

palm. His hand shook. Gleaming gemstones tumbled in a tiny rainbow, clattered

onto the cabin table. In his hand lay a fortune in rough-cut diamonds,

emeralds, other precious stones.

Through their multihued reflections his face framed a question.

"I think there is enough to repair your ship, to pay her crew..." She paused;

brighter flamed the challenge in her eyes. "Perhaps to buy my passage to a

distant port--if you dare!"

The captain of the Tuab swore. "I meant what I said, girl! Give me another few

days to refit her, and I'll sail you to lands where no man has ever heard the

name of Kane!"

"Later you may change your mind," Dessylyn warned.

She rose from her chair. Mavrsal thought she meant to leave, but then he saw

that her fingers had loosened other fastenings at her belt. His breath caught

as the silken gown began to slip from her shoulders.

"I won't change my mind," he promised, understanding why Kane might go to any

extreme to keep Dessylyn with him.

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eBookVersion:2.0.NightWindsKarlEdwardWagnerToManlyWadeWellman--ScholarandGentleman,Writerandman,Friend--Ittakesagianttoencompassallthesequalities;Andwe'llseenomoreofgiants.ContentsUNDERTOWPrologueI.SeekersintheNightII."Never,Dessylyn"III.AttheInnoftheBlueWindowIV.AShipWillSail...V.Wizard'sPaneVI.Nig...

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Karl Edward Wagner - Kane 05 - Night Winds

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