The Well of Darkness Read Online Free Page B

downward only slightly. I felt a pricking, and a warm trickle of blood. “And
I
have what
I
want.”
    He pulled away the sword and turned to the other man. “The third one abandoned them, obviously,” Obilin said. “He can’t be far ahead, but he’s not important. Go after them, Sharam,” he ordered, waving in the direction the dralda had gone. “Call them back.”
    Obilin didn’t get any argument. The man forced himself to his feet and obeyed, traveling in an uncontrolled, bonejarring trot.
    Obilin walked around me toward Tarani, laughing softly. Fine particles of sand had settled into his reddish-blond head fur, graying it into a nearly white frame for his small, well-defined features. Obilin’s skin was the same color as mine—about the shade a human Caucasian achieves after weeks of effort at tanning. The light color of his dusted hair provided a contrast that made his good looks even more striking. I had seen enough of him in Eddarta to know he was proud of his looks and made a deliberate effort to keep his body finely toned.
    I saw the proof, now, of his physical condition. His breathing was nearly normal again.
    “This is working out perfectly,” Obilin was saying. “When that fool catches his animals, he’ll collapse for a few hours. Since we’re at least two days ahead of our supply caravan, that gives us some time alone at last, my lovely Rassa—”
    He had moved to a place from which he could see Tarani’s face clearly, and now he flinched back in shock.
    “Tarani!” he said.
    Tarani, too, jumped in surprise. The dralda, paws on Tarani’s shoulder and stomach, growled softly. “How—how do you know me?” she asked.
    Obilin didn’t answer her. He slapped his forehead with his free hand—he still held his sword—and exclaimed, laughing: “By the Last King, I should have guessed! Rassa’s reappearance, when all the gossip said that she and her father had fled from the former High Lord’s romantic interest. Zefra, that old fraud—do you know, she actually had me believing that
she
had forced me to deliver that false message to Pylomel? And if those weren’t clues enough—the
bird!
” He shouted with laughter. “I
thought
that bird looked familiar, but I still didn’t put it all together until I saw your face.” He stopped laughing. “And a lovely face it is,” he added softly.
    He dropped the point of his sword to Tarani’s cheek; I saw her eyes, still open, staring up at the little man. The swordpoint traced a path along Tarani’s jaw, seemed to linger forever at the softest point of her throat, then finally moved down her chest and pressed down the woven fabric of her tunic, outlining the shape of her breast.
    His breathing had quickened again.
    “Ah, lovely Tarani,’ he breathed. “I confess that I never dreamed that this moment might come. I am even more grateful, now, that we have these private moments. Before the others arrive you shall do for me what you did, so beautifully, for Molik.”
    Tarani and I gasped simultaneously. Tarani hated that name, hated the memory of her service to the roguelord. She—with Antonia’s hidden guidance, I was sure—had fulfilled Molik’s sexual fantasies with her body and her mindpower, in exchange for something she wanted very badly—a traveling show, in which her power of illusion and her dancing provided decent, innocent entertainment. Molik was dead now, but Obilin had rekindled that terrible memory. More horribly, he planned to make her re-live it.
    Suddenly, the lingering confusion cleared from my mind.
I
got us into this
, I was thinking.
I got
Tarani
into this. We may get killed, but, by God, she won
‘
t suffer through that again!
    “You touch her, Obilin,” I said, my voice dry and raspy, “and you’re a dead man.”
    Tarani’s head snapped toward me, her face betraying recognition of the change in me. Obilin looked around, too, surprised by my outburst, but obviously unworried.
    Tarani grabbed the neckfur of her