Cook, Glen - The Tower of Fear

VIP免费

2024-12-07 0 0 537.63KB 273 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

The Witch entered the temple as the men met. She gasped, unable to believe

even now that she saw it. How had the man gotten through the citadel's

defenses? What man could have earned such great power?

Clouds of light and shadow contended. Larger than life, figures turned in an

almost formal, elegant dance around the slice and dart of flashing mystic

blades.

The shadow was overpowering the light slowly, consuming it, but she did not

see that in her fear for the man she loved. She saw only that an enemy was

trying to kill him and that enemy was a great enough wizard to have penetrated

the citadel's impenetrable defenses. She screamed, all reason fled before the

prospect of loss. "Nakar!"

Startled, the shadow turned her way.

The light struck its blow.

. . . and so begins a tale of doom and wizardry that brings us all, in the

end, to

The Tower of Fear

TOR BOOKS BY GLEN COOK

AN ILL FATE MARSHALLING

REAP THE EAST WIND

THE SWORDBEARER

THE TOWER OF FEAR

THE BLACK COMPANY:

The First Chronicle of the Black Company: THE BLACK COMPANY

The Second Chronicle of the Black Company: SHADOWS LINGER

The Third Chronicle of the Black Company: THE WHITE ROSE

The Fourth Chronicle of the Black Company: SHADOW GAMES: First Book of the

South

THE SILVER SPIKE

The Fifth Chronicle of the Black Company:

DREAMS OF STEEL: Second Book of the South

THE TOWER OF FEAR

GLEN COOK

TOR

fantasy

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this

book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely

coincidental.

thereof, in any form.

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

49 West 24th Street

New York, N.Y. 10010

Cover art by Gary Ruddell ISBN: 0-812-50929-3

First edition: August 1989

First mass market edition: October 1990

Printed in the United States of America 0987654321

THE PLAYERS IN THE MANY-FACED GAME

Qushmarrah-The conquered city where events take place

THE QUSHMARRAHANS-

Called veydeen by the Dartar tribesmen, the literal meaning of the word being

stone-sitters. Applicable to any city dwellers

Aaron Habid-A carpenter and war veteran

Laella-Aaron's wife

Arif-Aaron's older son

Stafa-Aaron's younger son

Raheb Sayed-Aaron's mother-in-law

Tamisa ("Mish")-Aaron's sister-in-law

Taidiki-Aaron's brother-in-law, now dead

Billygoat-Aaron's friend and co-worker, who caulks the seams in ships

Naszif bar bel-Abek-a metalworker and war veteran Reyha-Naszifs wife, Laella's

best friend Zouki-Naszifs son

Nakar the Abomination-a sorcerer, now dead, who ruled

Qushmarrah in the name of the god Gorloch The Witch-Nakar's wife Torgo-a

eunuch serving the Witch

Azel-a professional killer, talented and deadly. A man of many faces

Muma-innkeeper and associate of Azel Ishabel bel-Shaduk-professional criminal

and child-taker

The General-Leader of the Living, the Qushmarrahan resistance to the Herodian

occupation; khadifa (colonel or chieftain) in the quarter called the Shu

General Hanno bel-Karba-the Qushmarrahan national hero

Colonel Sisu bel-Sidek-the General's adjutant and heir, khadifa of the

waterfront

Meryel-woman shipping magnate, supporter of the Living, and bel-Sidek's lover

Colonel Salom Edgit-khadifa of the Tro quarter, caught between greed and honor

Colonel "King" Dabdahd-khadifa of the Astan quarter, a bootlicker

Colonel Ortbal Sagdet-khadifa of the Hahr quarter, more gangster than patriot

Colonel Carza-khadifa of the Minisia quarter, a fanatic

Colonel Zenobel-khadifa of the Shen quarter, a fanatic

Hadribel-second-in-command in the Shu quarter

THE DARTARS

Desert nomads, mercenaries acting as auxiliaries to Herod's

occupation forces

Yoseh-a young warrior just in from the desert Nogah-Yoseh's older brother,

leader of his band Medjhah-Yoseh's older brother Mahdah-member of Yoseh's

band, a cousin Kosuth-member of Yoseh's band, a cousin Juba-member of Yoseh's

band, an adoptive cousin Faruk-member of Yoseh's band, a cousin Melchesheydek-

Yoseh's father, something of a rogue

Fa'tad al-Akla-called the Eagle, commander of the Dartar mercenaries

Joab-captain of Yoseh's company and an old friend of Fa'tad Mo'atabar-sergeant

of Yoseh's company, related to Joab

THE HERODIANS

Called ferrenghi by the Dartar tribesmen, the literal meaning of the word

being outsider, stranger, enemy. In contemporary usage specifically someone

whose allegiance lies with the imperial city, Herod.

General Lentello Cado-conqueror of Qushmarrah, now military governor and

commander of occupying forces

Taliga-General Cado's brother-in-law and batman

Colonel Bruda-Herodian intelligence chief in Qushmarrah

Marteo Sullo-civil governor of Qushmarrah

Annalaya-a witch brought to Qushmarrah by Sullo

Cullo-Aaron Habid's supervisor at work

Ala-eh-din Beyh-a wizard, antecedents unknown, whose successful attack upon

Nakar the Abomination made possible the Herodian conquest of Qushmarrah

OTHERS

Chorhkni, Suldan of Aquira-permanent threat on the eastern boundary of the

Herodian empire

THE GODS

Gorloch-an ancient, ferocious deity long abandoned by most

Qushmarrahans Nakar-an angel in Gorloch s pantheon, associated with death,

from whom the sorcerer Nakar adopted his name Azel-a messenger demon

associated with the angel Nakar

Aram the Flame-a gentle, compassionate deity whose cult supplanted that of

Gorloch

God-the Herodian deity, ferocious, jealous, contradictory. Extension of his

cult is the excuse for Herodian conquests

Prolog

The smoke was oppressive. It crept south into the Shu from the Shen,

where sorcery had birthed fires when the invaders breached the Gate of Winter.

It brought chaos. Within it combatants recognized neither friend, foe, nor

fleeing civilian. Men struck now and wept later. Animals careened around in

panic. The heavy overcast turned back the light of day and worsened seeing.

Qushmarrahan, Dartar, and Herodian alike prayed for rain. Rain might quench

the fires and cool the killing insanity.

Qushmarrah was lost but its men fought on. While Nakar lived they dared not

surrender.

The surrounding horizons were clear. It seemed the city was circumvallated by

walls of light. The clouds grew rapidly darker nearer the heart of the city.

Above the acropolis, over the citadel of Nakar the Abomination, those were

black as the breath of Hell. The citadel's tower pierced their low bellies.

Lightning shattered darkness. Thunder crushed the uproar in the streets. A

hundred thousand smoke-teared eyes looked toward the sorcerer's stronghold.

Clouds above began to swirl, to stream inward, forming a whirlpool in the sky,

a celestial maelstrom.

An end-of-the-world flash and crash rattled the city to its foundations.

The rains came. They fell in torrents like none before witnessed by man.

The sorcerer sat on his dark throne, amused. He would wait a while longer

before he crushed the invaders. They would perish in agony, every one,

Herodian and Dartar traitor . . .

Something moved in the shadows at the far end of that last temple of Gorloch.

He sprang up, robes flying, eyes wide. He did not recognize the man but knew

what he must be. "You!"

"Yes, High Priest." There was soft mockery in the voice. The man wore peasant

garb. He was too tall to be Herodian, too dark to be Qushmarrahan. The breath

of the desert informed his voice but he was no Dartar. "Another has come."

Nakar relaxed. They came and they came but he devoured them all. "I should

have suspected." He chuckled. "Cado has been unnaturally lucky."

"Not my doing, wizard. Cado's genius, your failings, and human frailty."

The sorcerer sneered. "The fire is come. It will scour away the weakness of

Aram. Herod's triumph will turn in her hands, like an adder. Gorloch will

stand forth in his glory again. Come. I grow impatient. I will destroy them

after I finish you." He laughed. "Come, little dog of the desert. Let it be

done between me and yours. You are the last."

"No." The man's slow advance did not falter. "There is another training

already. Always there will be another somewhere, hidden from your eye, till

you are driven from the world and torment it no more." A dagger flashed in his

hand. It radiated

power.

Fear touched the sorcerer for an instant. Then the rage came. He would sweep

them out of the path of destiny. "Gorloch, attend me!" He hurled himself

toward his challenger. They met before the great idol, beside the altar where

thousands had screamed their last that Gorloch might be pleased and his

apostle Nakar might live forever.

* * *

The Witch entered the temple as the men met. She gasped, unable to believe

even now that she saw it. How had the man gotten through the citadel's

defenses? What man could have earned such great power?

Clouds of light and shadow contended. Larger than life, figures turned in an

almost formal, elegant dance around the slice and dart of flashing mystic

blades.

The shadow was overpowering the light slowly, consuming it, but she did not

see that in her fear for the man she loved. She saw only that an enemy was

trying to kill him and that enemy was a great enough wizard to have penetrated

the citadel's impenetrable defenses. She screamed, all reason fled before the

prospect of loss. "Nakar!"

Startled, the shadow turned her way.

The light struck its blow.

Nakar's bellow shook the fortress. He lurched into his enemy, clawing at his

attacker's throat. Their struggle flung them against the altar.

The Witch wailed. She had killed him with her interruption. While they yet

fought, before death claimed its prize, she wove her greatest spell ever,

binding them in timelessness. Someday she would bring back the man she loved,

when she found the way.

She finished. In pain, as she collapsed, she cried, "AZEL!" The summons rolled

through the citadel but there was no answer. Nakar had sent his right hand far

away, to work his will in another land. There would be no help.

It was too late. For now.

The avalanche of rain faded as fast as it had come. The clouds blew away from

Qushmarrah like the souls of men newly dead. Throughout the city men began to

lay down their arms. Nakar was gone.

* * *

In the Shu the stillness yielded to the cry of a newborn. And a moment later

its cries were joined by those of another entrant into the lists of life.

The war ended. The wheel turned. A new story began.

The boys came up Char Street in a mouthy pack. The hazy turquoise of the bay

backed them. There were twenty of them, ranging from three to eight years old.

The pretend they were playing reflected their parents' private rejection of

history. They were soldiers returning victorious from Dak-es-Souetta.

Their rowdiness caught the old woman's ear. She looked up from her mending. A

scowl deepened the wrinkles webbing her dark leather face. She thought their

parents ought to whip some sense into them.

One of the boys kicked something the size of a melon. Another raced forward,

snatched it up out of the dust, shook it overhead, and shouted.

The old woman's frown deepened. Wrinkles became gullies of shadow. Where had

they gotten a skull?

The boy dropped the headbone and booted it. It ricocheted off a man's leg.

Another man kicked it past the old woman. It vanished in a canebreak of legs.

That was a busy street.

The old woman saw char marks on the skull before it disappeared.

Of course. They were razing the ruins near the Gate of Winter where, after

breaching the wall, several hundred invaders had perished in a fire touched

off by errant sorceries. The area would be rich in treasures for small boys.

The pack raced after their plaything, disrupting commerce and generating

curses both good-natured and otherwise. One boy, about six, stopped in front

of the old woman. He was very formal as he said, "Good afternoon, Grandmother

Sayhed."

The old woman smiled. She had teeth missing. With equal formality, she

replied, "Good day, young Zouki. You've been exploring where they're tearing

the old buildings down?"

Zouki nodded and grinned. He was missing teeth, too.

At the beginning and at the end, toothless, the old woman reflected. Like

Qushmarrah.

The boy asked, "Can Arif come out?"

"No."

Zouki looked startled. "How come?"

"It wouldn't be safe. You boys will be in big trouble in a few minutes." The

old woman put her mending down. She pointed in the direction of the bay.

The boy looked, saw the eight black riders swaying like the masts of ships

above the turbulent human sea. The leader rated a horse. The others rode

camels. They came straight up the hill, leaving it to the mob to get out of

their way. Dartar mercenaries.

They were in no hurry to get anywhere. They were after no one. Just a routine

patrol. But if they saw the boys abusing the skull . . .

Zouki gawked.

The old woman said, "Get along now, Zouki. Don't bring the heathen to our

door."

The boy spun and plunged after his friends, throwing a shout ahead. The old

woman continued to stare at the riders. They were close now.

They were young. The leader was the eldest. He might be twenty-three. None of

the others had reached twenty. They wore black veils to mask their features,

but those were not heavy. One could not have been more than sixteen.

As the Dartar riders came abreast of her, that youngest's eye met the old

woman's. Her stare was hot and sharp, accusing. The youth blushed and looked

away. The old woman muttered, "Well you might be ashamed, turncoat."

"Oh, Mother. He's not responsible. He was a child when the Dartar tribes

betrayed us."

"Dak-es-Souetta," the old woman hissed as she looked up at her daughter, who

had come from the house with a child on her hip. "Never forgiven, never

forgotten, Laella. Herod is a passing wind. Qushmarrah is eternal. Qushmarrah

will stand when the invader is dust. Qushmarrah will remember the Dartar

treachery." She spat toward the mercenaries.

"Why don't you go burn a memorial tusk at the gate of the citadel of Nakar the

Abomination, Mother? I'm sure the Witch will appreciate the gesture."

Laella retreated into the house. The old woman sputtered curses under her

breath. Another symptom of the conquest. Children showing no respect for their

parents.

She glanced uphill. The citadel of Nakar the Abomination could not be seen

from her vantage. Even so, chills tramped her spine.

Some good had come of the occupation. Even she would admit that much. Even she

thought Ala-eh-din Beyh a hero. Before his sacrifice no one would have dared

call Nakar "the Abomination" in any voice but the most breathless whisper.

The old woman pointed and Zouki's gaze followed the spearthrust of her

withered arm.

The Dartar riders were like something out of the nighttime monster stories the

older boys told to scare their little brothers. All in black, with nothing but

hard eyes and a bit of dark, tattooed cheek showing.

He spun and ran into the crowd, alternately yelling, "Yahoud!" and apologizing

to the adults he jostled. With everyone taller, and the dust so thick at his

level, it was impossible to see his friends. He thought he heard his name.

Baml He ran into Yahoud, who had just lifted the skull from the dust. "You

dope!" Yahoud said. "Look out where you're going."

"Yahoud. Dartars." "What?"

"Dartars are coming. Right back there."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Yahoud looked at the skull a moment. "Here, Zouki. Go throw it into that

alley."

Zouki held the skull in both hands and wove through the press. The alley was

not far away. Before he reached it several boys were following him, alerted by

Yahoud.

He was about to step into the alley when he saw the vague shape back in the

shadows. He paused.

A voice just loud enough to be heard said, "Bring it here, boy. Give it to

me."

Zouki took three steps, paused. He did not like this.

"Will you hurry it up?"

Zouki responded to the authority in the voice, taking another three steps.

That was one too many. The man leaped. A hand slammed down on his shoulder, a

clamp of agony. "Yahoud!"

"Are you Zouki, son of Naszif?"

"Yahoud!"

"Answer me, brat!"

"Yes! Yahoud!"

Children crowded the alley mouth, shouting. The man shifted his grip to

Zouki's arm and dragged him deeper into the shadows. Zouki screamed and kicked

and struck out with the skull he still clenched.

Yoseh fought the awe that threatened to overwhelm him whenever he left the

Dartar compound. So many people. So many thousands of people, more than he

could have conceived of as inhabiting the whole world a year ago. And the bay?

Who cold conceive such a sprawl of water, vast as an arm of the Takes, but the

blue of heavenstone? With far vaster expanses of sea beyond the Brothers, the

headlands flanking the strait that led into the bay.

And the buildings! He did not believe he would get used to the buildings,

ever. In his native mountains there were no builded things at all, except

ancient fortresses that had begun their fall to ruin centuries ago.

There was an eddy and swirl in the mass of humanity ahead. An exuberant cry

went up.

"Medjhah," Yoseh said. "That's the mudha-el-bal." Though that battle cry was

still heard in the canyons of the Khadatqa Mountains, here even Dartars were

denied it.

"And we should go cut them down, Yoseh?" his brother asked. Medjhah was an old

Qushmarrah hand after a year in service. "Eight of us meting out capital

punishment to kids amongst a couple thousand of their relatives? If the

ferrenghi want them punished, let them see to it themselves. Let them bear the

hatred."

Their elder brother Nogah, who was the captain of their little company, turned

in his saddle, said, "Well spoken, Medjhah. Yoseh, we're not here to die for

the ferrenghi. We're here to take their wages."

Yoseh grunted. Ahead, one of the children had gone to the side of the street

to talk to a crone seated on a mat. Old people lined the street on both sides,

some on mats, some seated on steps, some trying to hawk, some just watching

the parade of life. It was a miracle they did not get trampled.

The crone pointed. The boy looked, saw Yoseh and his companions. His eyes

bugged. He yipped and dashed into the crowd.

"You see?" Medjhah said. "The streets of Qushmarrah are free of heresy and

sedition."

The others laughed. Yoseh did not. As the youngest he was always the brunt of

their humor. He looked at the old woman. She looked back, her face as empty as

a statue's. But he could sense the angry hatred within, like the lakes of

molten rock simmering deep within the holy mountain Khared Dun. Sometimes the

god in the mountain became angry enough to spew fiery destruction upon anyone

unfortunate enough to be nearby. The crone reminded him of the holy mountain.

That old woman had lost somebody at Dak-es-Souetta.

He felt the heat climb his cheeks. He tore his gaze from the old woman and

called up all his Dartar contempt for city dwellers. But the embarrassment

continued to mount. He had forgotten what he was. Now all these sessile goat

flops would see a Dartar betraying his feelings.

Yoseh was very conscious of his youth, of his inexperience, of the unfaded

newness of the manhood tattoos upon his face, and of the lance across his lap.

Medjhah assured him that the self-consciousness would pass, that none of these

city veydeen even noticed.

Yoseh knew that. But knowing with the head and knowing with the heart could be

separated by the journey of the hundred nights.

Someone shouted. Yoseh saw the children rush to the side of the street. Adults

followed after more shouts. The children seemed distressed.

Nogah yelled. He begun swinging the butt of his lance, urging his horse

through the press. Yoseh did not understand. He had difficulties with the

cants and dialects of Qushmarrah. But something was happening that Nogah

considered to be within their venue. He kicked his mount. The camel promptly

tried to take a bite out of the nearest citizen.

The crowd was thickest around the mouth of an alley about four feet wide. The

children clustered and raised a repetitive wailing chant that sounded like,

"Bedija ghal Bedija gha!"

Nogah shouted at Faruk. Faruk sounded the horn that would summon any Dartar or

ferrenghi troops within hearing. The crowd began to thin immediately. Nogah

said, "Yoseh, Medjhah, Kosuth, go in there after them. The rest of us will try

to get around and cut them off. You. Boy. Hold these animals."

The Dartars dismounted in a clatter. Still baffled, Yoseh followed his brother

and cousin into the dark, dank, stinking alleyway. His lance was unwieldy in

that narrow passage.

Fifty feet in they heard a cry. It sounded like an echoing call for help.

Twenty feet onward the alley split at right angles. They paused, listened.

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

TheWitchenteredthetempleasthemenmet.Shegasped,unabletobelieveevennowthatshesawit.Howhadthemangottenthroughthecitadel'sdefenses?Whatmancouldhaveearnedsuchgreatpower?Cloudsoflightandshadowcontended.Largerthanlife,figuresturnedinanalmostformal,elegantdancearoundthesliceanddartofflashingmysticblades.The...

展开>> 收起<<

Cook, Glen - The Tower of Fear.pdf

共273页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Cook, Glen - The Tower of Fear

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: