Mark Anthony - Last Rune 03 - The Dark Remains

Mark Anthony The Dark Remains (The Last Rune, Book 3)

The Dark Remains (The Last Rune, Book 3)

NOTICES REQUIRED FOR COPYRIGHT WORKS DISTRIBUTED IN THE UNITED STATES

UNDER 17 U.S.C. Sec. 121

The information which follows is important since it describes the

copyright ownership and legal restrictions on the use of this

Bookshare.org digital material which govern your lawful use of it.

Copyright Notices

The owner of the copyright on this digital material is Mark Anthony and

this edition was published during 2001. The title of this material is

'The Dark Remains (The Last Rune, Book 3)', and the author is 'Mark

Anthony'.

This material may only be lawfully used and possessed in this form by

Bookshare.org individual or institutional members who have previously

signed a Member Agreement and provided Bookshare.org with satisfactory

written proof of a print disability, within the meaning of 17 U.S.C.

Sec. 121, and who qualify to receive books and other publications

produced in specialized formats in compliance with the relevant

copyright laws of the United States. If you are not in this class of

persons, you are not authorized to access or use this material and

should destroy this copy at once since possession or use of it is a

violation of copyright law. Copyright owners agreed to this special

exception to assist the blind and reading disabled, and their rights

should be respected in return for this important exception.

This material is made available under 17 U.S.C. Sec. 121, which provides

that: "it is not an infringement of copyright for an authorized entity

to reproduce or to distribute copies of a previously published,

nondramatic literary work if such copies are reproduced or distributed

in specialized formats exclusively for use by blind or other persons

with disabilities."

Bookshare.org is an authorized entity under this law. This exception

applies only to distribution within the United States, whether over the

Internet or otherwise.

Your use of this special digital form of the material is subject to the

Member Agreement you previously signed. For the full text of the current

version of this Member Agreement, please visit

www.bookshare.org/Agreements. This information does not in any way

change the terms of your Agreement with Bookshare.org; it is placed here

to remind you of your obligations and those of persons who might

subsequently obtain a copy of this digital form of the material.

Limitation of Liability; Indemnity by User

By downloading and using this material, you agree that neither

Bookshare.org nor the authors or original publishers of the materials

shall be financially responsible for any loss or damage to you or any

third parties caused by the failure or malfunction of the Bookshare.org

Web Site (www.bookshare.org) or because of any inaccuracy or lack of

completeness of any content that you download from the Web Site,

including this material. Similarly, neither Bookshare.org nor the

authors and publishers of the content make any representations as to the

accuracy, completeness, etc., of the materials available on the Web

Site. The authors and publishers have no editorial control over this Web

Site.

BOOKSHARE.ORG, AND THE AUTHORS, PUBLISHERS AND COPYRIGHT OWNERS OF THE

MATERIALS, SHALL NOT IN ANY CASE BE LIABLE FOR DIRECT, INDIRECT,

SPECIAL, INCIDENTAL OR CONSEQUENTIAL DAMAGES, WHETHER BASED ON CONTRACT,

TORT OR ANY OTHER LEGAL THEORY, IN CONNECTION WITH OR ARISING OUT OF THE

FURNISHING OF CONTENT, THE FUNCTIONING OF THE WEB SITE, OR ANY OTHER

ASPECT OF YOUR USE OF THE WEB SITE AND THE CONTENTS PROVIDED HEREUNDER.

You agree to indemnify and hold Bookshare.org and Benetech, the Web Site

provider, harmless from any liability, loss, cost, damage or expense,

including reasonable attorney's fees, that result from any claim made by

any author, publisher or copyright owner that you, or any one acquiring

copies of copyrighted materials downloaded from the Web Site through

you, is not visually impaired, disabled or otherwise entitled to

download and use the digital materials from the Bookshare.org Web Site

under the provisions of 17 U.S.C. Sec. 121 and related laws. This

indemnity includes any claims arising out of any breach of your

obligations under your Member Agreement, whether by reason of misuse,

negligence or otherwise.

Permitted Use; Limited Waiver of Privacy Principles and Laws

You are permitted under the "Fair Use" principles of the copyright laws

to use this digital copy for your own personal use. However, any further

reproduction, distribution, or any commercial usage requires the

express, prior consent of the copyright holder.

This material contains digital watermarks and fingerprints designed to

identify this material as a Bookshare.org digital material that was

specifically downloaded by you. It is illegal to delete or modify these

watermarks and fingerprints under the terms of the Digital Millennium

Copyright Act. Bookshare.org has an active monitoring system in place to

protect against this, which includes maintaining records of the identity

of the persons downloading books and materials from the Web Site. We do

so to protect this valuable exception in the copyright law that permits

the Bookshare.org and similar services. Your Member Agreement expressly

authorizes us to include these security devices, solely for this use, as

an express exception to current and future privacy laws relating to

protection of personal information data. Should any future privacy law

or regulation preclude the use of this personal data for purposes of

tracking the downloading and use of these materials and enforcing the

limitations of 17 U.S.C. Sec. 121, your right to use these materials

will terminate on the effective date of any such law or regulation.

The Bookshare.org id of this book is Bookshare-36371-1-1. This material

was downloaded by Robert Riddle (captinlogic@hotmail.com) and is

digitally fingerprinted in the manner described above.

Begin Content

Don't miss Books One and TWo of The Last Rune

BEYOND THE PALE

NAMED THE BEST FIRST FANTASY NOVEL BY THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS

THE KEEP OF FIRE

"Offers a diverse cast of characters and a well-realized world in which

the expected does not happen. Anthony is unsparing of the details of

castle life, enriching the book with a solid sense of place and time."

-Robin Hobb

stunningly rich novel filled with magic, great character, horror and

humor. -Michael Stackpole

Available wherever Bantam Spectra Books are sold

i THE DARK REMAINS

ii ALSO BY MARK ANTHONY

Beyond the Pale The Keep of Fire

iii m

REMAINS

BOOK THREE OF

THE LAST RUNE

MARK ANTHONY

fit

BANTAM BOOKS

TORONTO LONDON SYDNEY AUCKLAND

iv

A Bantam Spectra Book / March 2001

SPECTRA and the portrayal of a boxed "s" are trademarks of Bantam Books,

a division of Random House, Inc.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by

any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information

storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the

publisher.

For information address: Bantam Books.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Anthony, Mark,

1966The dark remains / Mark Anthony. p. cm.-(The last rune ; bk. 3) ISBN

0-553-38101-6

I. Title. PS3551.N725 D37 2001

CIP

simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House,

Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the

portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark

Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540

Broadway, New York, New York 10036.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

FFG 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

v For Trey R. Barker and LuAnn SalzThanks for Providence and Dark Redemption

And for the Millennium GangKathy Kirby and Stan Kirby

Christie Golden and Michael Georges and Raven MooreThree A.M. will never

look quite the sar.

vi THE WINTER SEA

IMBRIFALE The Rune Gate

1V Cr00,~t~~ SHA[~~iNJSDEEP

\ oar~ .Gravenfist Keep

Awrim

EREDANE

v oYn ~

?fiver Keid°:r enarr, BRELEGOND

SUMMER

vii

Ur-TOrin

4o~nN

Tower

TOLORIA

THE DAWN SEA

EA

THE DOMINIONS

and surrounding lands Leagues 0 25 50

viii

ix With Fellring sword of Elfin art, Ulther smote the Pale King's heart.

x

xi And farewell words too often part All their small and paling hearts.

1

2

3 It was in the final, burnished days of summer-when cool mornings gave

way to languid afternoons under hazy skies, when the wheat bowed in the

fields, shafts heavy with fruit, and all the land was still as if

drinking in one last, long draught of gold-that the Mournish came to

Ar-tolor.

Through the window of her chamber, Aryn watched the line of wagons creep

along the road that led to the castle. At this distance the wagons were

smaller than toys, but the young woman's blue eyes were sharp, and she

could make out many of the fantastical shapes into which they had been

wrought.

There were swans with high, curving prows and snowy wings folded against

their sides, and snails painted pink with small round windows set into

their spiraled shells. A lion crouched low to the road, as if ready to

pounce on a hart crowned by tree-branch antlers, while an emerald frog

bounced behind. More wagons rolled into view: tortoises, fish cresting

carved blue waves, lizards, tawny hares, and a dozen other creatures

that Aryn had never seen before, except perhaps coiled along the edges

of pages in old books.

One by one the wagons vanished beneath the green curve of the hill, and

the road was empty again. But even at that moment, Aryn knew the wagons

were coming to halt in the field outside the village, opening painted

doors to release the spicy scent of incense, the cool clink of silver,

and the undulating rhythms of music.

4

The young woman turned from the window, her sapphire eyes bright. "Let's

go see the Mournish!"

Lirith, who sat in a chair on the other side of the small sitting room,

did not look up from her embroidery. "And then let's get tossed in the

dungeon and make the acquaintance of a few dozen rats. For you know as I

do, sister, that Queen Ivalaine has made it plain she wishes no one in

her court to associate with the wandering folk. Their entertainments are

for villagers and farmers."

Annoyed, but not surprised, Aryn indulged herself in a particularly

noxious frown.

"And what a fine baroness you'll make after your face freezes that way,

sister," Lirith mused, her dark eyes still focused on the embroidery

hoop in her lap. "Even bold dukes and proud knights will quail before you."

"As well they should," Aryn said. Although she smoothed her features and

made a quick glance at a silver mirror on the wall nearby to be sure she

hadn't done permanent damage.

"I saw that," Lirith said.

Rather than reply, Aryn gazed back out the window. The most interesting

sight she saw now was a flock of sheep dotting the side of a distant

hill like flowers. She amused herself for a few moments, imagining

plucking tiny sheep from the grass, weaving them into a squirming,

bleating chain, and placing them around her neck. Then she considered

the smell, and that fancy passed.

"I'm bored," she said, not caring how petulant she sounded. She felt

petulant.

"All the better reason for you to stay and work on your embroidery."

Aryn scowled at the black-haired witch. "I know perfectly well that you

loathe embroidery, Lirith."

"Indeed. And my loathing keeps me well occupied, so that I do not become

bored. Now sew. Sister Tressa will be here soon, and she'll expect to

see some progress."

Aryn turned from the window, pulled close the wooden stand that held her

embroidery hoop steady for her, and did her best to pretend that sewing

unicorns was really more fascinating than buying packets of sugared

nuts, laughing at performing monkeys, and watching men who swallowed

knives and burning brands.

Yrsaia knows, you should be more grateful for your boredom, Aryn of

Elsandry, she scolded herself. Where are Grace and Goodman Travis

5

and Lord Beltan now? Sitting in a comfortable chair in a safe castle

with a cup of sweet wine at hand?

She sighed, and Lirith looked up, an expression of concern on her face.

"I am certain they are well, sister. It is to their homeland they have

journeyed. And no one has power to heal as does Lady Grace. I imagine

Sir Beltan is telling bawdy jokes and drinking ale even as we speak."

Aryn wished she had such a good imagination.

It had been a month since they had begged their leave of Queen Inara and

set out from Castle Spardis. They had left the seat of Perridon in good

order. The young queen had rescinded all of the usurper Dakarreth's

proclamations, and with the help of the Spider Aldeth-who was making a

steady recovery from his injury-had cemented her position as regent to

her infant son, Prince Perseth. While there would continue to be plots

against the queen-this was Perridon, after all-Aryn expected Inara to

rule long and well.

After only a day of traveling they had bid farewell to Melia and Falken,

for the bard and the lady intended to journey north to find their friend

Tome-who, like Melia, was a former god. Aryn would have liked to see the

golden-eyed old man again; he had the power to make her laugh no matter

the sorrow she felt. However, Inara had already sent a messenger to

Ivalaine. Aryn and Lirith were expected in Ar-tolor, and Durge had

agreed to escort them there.

Although Lirith was her friend and teacher, and Durge was good-if

sober-company, the ride across Perridon and Toloria seemed lonely. Grace

and Travis had returned with Beltan to their world in hopes of healing

the knight's old wound. Melia and Falken had their own journeys. Even

Tira was gone.

Except that wasn't true, was it? For sometimes, when Aryn woke in the

gray dawn, she glimpsed a star as red as fire low in the southern sky.

She still didn't understand what had happened in Spardis, when Travis

gave Tira the Stone of Fire. But Melia said the red-haired girl was a

goddess now, and Melia should know. Aryn supposed that, in a way, Tira

would always be with them.

They had reached Ar-tolor with little event, and Aryn had been more glad

than she expected to see its seven spires soaring over fields of jade.

Queen Ivalaine had welcomed them with a rare smile, and at once

dispatched a man to Calavere to inform King Boreas that Aryn would be

visiting at the court of Ar-tolor for a time.

6

"You shall resume your instruction with Sister Liri th at once,"

Ivalaine told her that first day in the castle, and Aryn had not disagreed.

The weeks since had passed pleasantly-walking the castle grounds, sewing

under Tressa's attention, reaching out with the Touch to grasp the magic

of the Weirding as Lirith whispered calm instructions in her ear. And if

at times it all seemed dull compared to their desperate journey east to

the Keep of Fire, Aryn knew she should be grateful for that dullness.

With the Necromancer Dakarreth's scourge of fire ended, the land had

recovered more quickly than she had believed possible. Crops had been

hastily resown, flourishing under golden sun and gentle rain. Now

Keldath was nearly over, and there would be a good-if late-harvest this

year. It seemed a wonder, but perhaps there was a lesson in it; perhaps

she should never underestimate the power of life.

Then don't underestimate Beltan's life. Or Grace's or Travis's. They're

going to be fine. So you might as well stop worrying.

However, Aryn might as easily prevent the stars from spinning in the

night sky. And she knew it gnawed at Lirith and Durge as much as it did

her. They all feared for the others, who were beyond their reach now.

Which was precisely why a diversion like the Mournish caravan was in order.

A knock sounded at the chamber door. Aryn bit her lip. She had hardly

sewn three stitches all morning. What would she tell Tressa? The queen's

counselor seemed to have a vastly inflated notion of the importance of

sewing.

The door opened. It was not Tressa who stepped into the room, but rather

a short, deep-chested man with drooping mustaches and somber brown eyes.

Lirith rose from her seat. "Good morrow, Lord Durge." He nodded to her.

"My lady."

Aryn thought about it for less than a moment, then leaped to her feet.

"Durge, we're going to see the Mournish."

Lirith glared at her, but Aryn ignored the look. It was a mean trick,

but she had learned a bit about tactics from her days as ward to King

Boreas of Calavan. When blocked on one front, advance on another.

Durge's perpetual frown deepened. "That is a perilous idea, my lady. The

Mournish are a queer folk. They make no homes save the wagons

7

they travel in, and it is said the music of their flutes can drive a man

to wildness."

Aryn groaned. That was hardly the response she had hoped for. Lirith

folded her arms over the bodice of her rust-colored gown and glanced at

Durge. "She has it in her head to go down and see the wandering folk,

even though Ivalaine has forbidden it."

"She didn't forbid it," Aryn countered. "Not precisely, anyway. Ivalaine

merely discouraged us from going. Besides, I'm weary of moping about

this castle. I think we all are. It would do us good to get some fresh

air." She held her breath, looking from knight to witch.

Durge stroked his mustaches and gazed at Lirith. "I believe she means to

go no matter what we say, my lady."

Lirith sighed. "Aren't chains an option?"

"A temptation, to be sure, but I fear not. It is best if you and I

accompany her to see that she does not fall into trouble."

If she had possessed two good hands instead of one, Aryn would have

clapped. "Now that's the sensible Durge I know." She stepped forward and

kissed his craggy cheek.

The knight blinked, his expression bewildered, and Lirith's brow

furrowed with displeasure. Aryn didn't care if she had been too

familiar. For the first time in days she felt her spirits lift. The

others would see that she was right-this was exactly what they needed.

Sunlight drenched the world like warm rain from the cobalt sky as

baroness, countess, and knight passed through a colonnade of trees and

stepped onto the village green.

It had been a simple feat to slip from the castle. Too simple for

Lirith's taste. Was it merely chance they had not come upon Lady Tressa

or another member of the queen's court on their way through Ar-tolor's

busy halls? Or had luck received some degree of assistance in the matter?

Lirith cast a glance at Aryn as they walked. She still didn't know what

the young woman had done over two months ago, when in secret they

followed after Grace and Durge as the pair set off from Calavere.

Tagging along had been a foolish plan, and Lirith had agreed to it only

because she had been certain King Boreas's knights would ride forth to

8

retrieve them before they had gone a league from the castle. Only

somehow Aryn had misdirected the king and his men. Lirith didn't know

how, but there was one thing of which she was certain: Aryn had used a

spell of some kind to achieve their escape.

Yet despite Aryn's rashness, Lirith was grateful-if not precisely

glad-that she and Aryn had followed after the others. The road had been

arduous, filled with fire and death, but there had been purpose to it.

For if they had not stolen away from Calavere that day, there was so

much Lirith would never have witnessed: Grace's courage against the

burning plague, Goodman Travis's wisdom before the Necromancer, the girl

Tira's mysterious and wondrous transformation. And there was more she

would never have known....

I miss all your questions, Daynen.

A sigh escaped her lips, as it always did when she thought of the

sightless boy who had given his life to save Tira at the bridge over the

River Darkwine. For so many years she had prayed to Sia to grant her a

child, and she had drunk an ocean of infusions and simples to quicken

her womb. However, no amount of prayers or herbs would ever cause seed

to grow in the soil of a salted field; she knew that now. But perhaps

Sia had heard her pleas after all, for Daynen-however briefly she had

known him-had seemed a son to her. She would never forget him.

"Come on, Lirith!" Aryn said, tugging on her arm.

Lirith let the young woman pull her across the grass while Durge trotted

behind them, clad in a heavy gray tunic despite the brilliance of the

late-summer afternoon. Already people from the town wandered uncertainly

onto the green, as if fearful of yet compelled by the fantastical

wagons. As the trio passed, the townsfolk cast startled glances at Aryn,

eyeing her pale, lovely face and azure gown-no doubt surprised to see a

member of the queen's court there. As well they should be. Lirith hoped

it was only the townsfolk who saw them.

The three reached the edge of the circle of wagons. Now that they were

close, Lirith could see the vehicles were more than a little roadworn:

wood cracked, gilt peeled, and dust flecked sun-faded paint. Yet somehow

this only added to their patina of mystery.

Although they had wandered for time out of mind, it was said the

Mournish came from the south. And indeed the appearance of their wagons

had been a more frequent-if far from regular-sight in Lirith's childhood

home in southern Toloria. Still, she had not seen the Mournish up close

since her girlhood. The scent of spices, candles, and roasted meat

reached her nose, and memories flooded her.

9

"Listen!" Aryn said, coming to a halt. Lilting music drifted on the air,

blowing back and forth with the breeze. The young woman shut her eyes

and swayed like a slender tree. "It's so beautiful."

Lirith drew in a breath, letting fresh air clear the memories from her

mind. "Well, are you feeling wild yet, Sir Durge?"

He seemed to consider her words, then gave a solemn nod. "Perhaps just a

bit, now that you mention it."

Lirith gaped at the stone-faced knight. Had the Embarran made a joke, or

was it merely a happy accident? Either way, she laughed. Perhaps Aryn's

impulses had proved beneficial once again-perhaps visiting the Mournish

was not such a bad idea after all.

"All right," she said, engaging Aryn's good left arm and Durge's

ironhard right, "I believe there are some spice pies with our names on

them."

It did not take them long to find the pies. They paid a copper coin

apiece to a toothless woman clad in orange and yellow, then sat in leafy

shade. There they bit into bubbled crusts to release warm juices that

dribbled down their chins. When the spice pies were gone, Aryn and

Lirith laughed as Durge diligently licked each of his fingers.

After that, the three wandered from wagon to wagon, and at each one a

new and enticing aroma drew them on. There were plates of sugared nuts,

sizzling bits of meat on sticks, and small cups fashioned ingeniously of

leaves, filled with honeyed wine as gold as the sun, but cool against

the tongue as evening dew.

And not all of the wagons contained food. Many were open to reveal black

cloths piled with silver rings, bright scarves that fluttered on the air

like butterflies, knives of blue steel, polished stones, rugs woven with

swirling colors, tin whistles, and boxes of wood carved like the

Mournish wagons themselves into the forms of animals and birds.

At one wagon-this one shaped like a crouching rat-an old man beckoned

them closer with a bony finger. They peered into the gloom within the

wagon, and only as their eyes adjusted did they make out the glass jars

that lined wooden shelves. The jars were filled with yellowish fluid,

and things floated inside them. At first Lirith couldn't tell what they

were, then a jolt of horror surged through her. One jar was filled with

eyeballs, another with snakes, and one with the half-formed fetus of a

pig, its clearly visible spine ending not in one head but two.

Displaying a rotten grin, the old man reached out and brushed Aryn's

left arm with something dark, dry, and shriveled: a monkey's paw. The

baroness screamed and darted from the wagon, bumping into a rickety

10

wooden stage where a monkey-this one quite alive-danced in time to a

drum. The stage tilted, and the spindly creature leaped for Aryn,

eliciting another shriek. She heaved the monkey back at its owner, who

caught it as he shouted at her in a hot and musical tongue.

Lirith and Durge grasped the baroness's shoulders and quickly steered

her away. As they walked, Aryn collapsed against them in breathless,

trembling laughter, tears streaming from her eyes. Lirith couldn't help

joining in, and even Durge's craggy cheek seemed to twitch. At last the

three of them came to a halt beside a tree, away from the circle of

wagons. Heavy light infused the air, and the leaves whispered soft,

green secrets above; the day was waning. Aryn's laughter dwindled, and

she let out a breath as she leaned against the smooth bark of the tree.

"I feel sticky," she said.

Lirith nodded in agreement. Durge said nothing, but his mustaches stuck

out at odd angles.

Mark Anthony - Last Rune 03 - The Dark Remains

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: