Stormed Fortress Read Online Free Page A

settled herself on the ground at the crown of the unconscious one ' s head.
    Stillness reigned then, while the night sky revolved around the pole star that glimmered at its fixed axis. The dark moon passed nadir, reversed its fierce grip, and gave way at last to the hush that preceded the dawn. At that hour, the life tide that swept through land and air breathed through all things on Athera. First herald of the paean that came with the sunrise, its current was acknowledged by the circle of male elders, also seated in cross-legged stillness.
    To their listening presence, the subtle quickening recharged the nerves like a sweet flare of lightning. The wounded survivor tucked in the blankets would not be overlooked by that benison. In thanksgiving for all things that lived, the ancient woman raised her voice and sang welcome, eyes trained upon the man at her knees as though his limp flesh held the flame of a lamp indescribably precious . . .
    * * *
    Arithon Teir ' s ' Ffalenn recovered the full range of his senses one disparate strand at a time. The alkaline tang of dry mineral came first: the unmistakable, signature scent of the wind hissing over the bleak sands of Sanpashir. With sound came the lilt of an old woman ' s voice, crooning over his head. His limbs were kept warm by a rough, goat-hair blanket that bristled his sensitized skin. That discomfort lost meaning, undone by the joy that moved through the song. Though the crone ' s aged tone held a rasping quaver, her wise intent showered his mage-sense in glittering waves of sweet harmony.
    Terror lurked outside, a drowning, black fear held at bay by the singer ' s lines of protection: the agonized memory, not formless! of bone knives and unnatural, dark seals wrought to seed dire torment and ensnare the spirit at the threshold of death.
    Arithon loosed a shuddering sigh and wept through a flood of relief: first for the clean air that entered his lungs, then for the gift of mage-guided company.
    He responded in thanks with his eyes shut. ' Mother Dark ' s blessing. Increase to the tribes, for your kindness. '
    The grandame ' s evocative melody ceased. Not her warding, which shimmered still, an ephemeral embrace wrought from moving light that laced her guest ' s form in sealed quiet.
    ' What can a destitute teidwar return? ' said Arithon Teir ' s ' Ffalenn, quite undone by the piercing tenderness of her insight. The word he had chosen was in deep desert dialect, meaning ' outland, strange person, who fares through another ' s place, kinless. '
    Clothing rustled, to movement. His benefactress laid her tender hand on the blanket. Even that brief instant of pressure over his heart caused a flinch.
    Her murmur held sympathy. ' There, do you see? The scar remains, yet. Though your body has knitted, and the ritual cuts are closed over, the etheric mark you still bear is not healed. Lie calm. Here is safety. Nor are you teidwar. Spirit who serves the true light, and this land, D ' aedenthic himself has delivered you. '
    ' Fire Hands? ' whispered Arithon in puzzled translation. The desert-folks ' habit of speech often wound through convoluted, layered meanings. Since given names rarely were spoken aloud, he guessed with a wry twist of irony, ' Kewar ' s Sorcerer. You know him? Then I must apologize. Given the choice, I would not have burdened your people with my infirmity. '
    The crone clicked her teeth. ' We asked. Yes, harken! You are here because your distress is our provenance. '
    That direct claim shot Arithon ' s eyes open. As refined vision darkened to sensory sight, he stared upward: into crinkled, brown features, framed in wind-tangled snags of white hair. The woman sat against the wide, lucent sky, tinted aqua by on-coming daybreak. Her fringed head-dress was patterned with the beautiful yarns the tribes spun from silk and dyed goat hair. The gaudy colours seemed fit to stun his uncertain grasp on recovery.
    ' Your problem, old one? ' He searched her burled face. Respectful,