Janny Wurts Cycle Of Fire 1 Storm Warden [rtf]

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muscles already worn out by the weight of the sleigh, and he flinched
reflexively.
"You're tired." With gentle sympathy, the forester pulled the straps of the
drag-sleigh free of Jaric's grip. "If you push yourself to exhaustion, who
will help me set camp and build the fire?"
The boy sighed and nodded. He stepped aside while Tele-mark tugged the sleigh
clear of the log. Although the man's face was averted, Jaric understood the
forester was still con-cerned over the fact that he seldom spoke since his
recovery from the accident. Occasionally disappointment showed in the
forester's manner, though he never troubled to mention the subject.
Jaric bit his lip, watched Telemark haul the drag-sleigh with what seemed
careless strength. Yet his rhythmic stride and the unbroken swish of the
runners reflected more than years of accumulated skill; the man's haste
described frustration. Jaric hated to distress the forester who had granted
him shelter and healing; still, he avoided speech. Words disturbed him,
created interference patterns whose echoes would not be stilled, as if they
represented more than the simple sound of their pronun-ciation. To speak was
to become disoriented, lost in the black-ness of the void where memory ended
and where the unknown tantalized him endlessly with unanswerable questions.
Like a mariner cast adrift in fog-bound waters, Jaric clung to the particulars
of the moment. In silence he listened for the marker which would guide him
back to the past he had lost.
The weather worsened as afternoon progressed. Blinded by the thickening fall
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of flakes, Jaric stumbled often into branches and his boot cuffs became packed
with ice as he waded through freshly drifted thickets. The terrain grew
rougher, sliced by steep-sided gullies and the black unfrozen sheen of running
water. Yet the boy pressed on without asking for rest. Telemark halted well
ahead of sundown beneath a high shelf of rock. The wind drove the snow in
smoking clouds off the exposed crest of the ridge and flakes tumbled, hissing,
through the bare poles of a lean-to beneath.
With his back to the rocks, the forester set his boot on the drag-sleigh and
leaned crossed arms on his knee. "Do you think you can set up the shelter?"
Jaric smiled, at home with the silent snowbound forest and the prospect of
making camp as he never could have been before leaving Morbrith. But no memory
of his former helplessness returned to trouble him as he knelt and set his
hands to the cords on the sleigh.
Telemark laughed and bent to assist him. "Let me have my bow and two beaver
traps. Do you suppose I can lay the traps and bag dinner before you can make
camp and start a fire?"
Jaric grinned, yanked off one mitten with his teeth, and tore industriously
into the knots.
"Right, then, it's a race," said Telemark. "If you win, I'll begin to teach
you the quarterstaff. The wind keeps the snow thin on the bluff. The footing
there should be adequate."
The forester unlaced a bundle and pulled forth two steel traps, each with a
length of chain ending in a forged ring. Then he strapped on his quiver of
arrows, took up his bow and his axe and disappeared silently into the wood.
Jaric barely noted his departure. He unloaded the drag-sleigh with exuberant
haste and tugged the patched sail-cloth shelter free of its ties. Snow
cascaded down his cuffs as he tossed it over the poles of the lean-to, and an
icy wind billowed the canvas while he fought to lash the lines to secure it in
place. But Jaric was exhilarated by the contest and barely noticed the
discomfort. He spread the drop-cloth and stacked the supplies safely inside.
Then, running and sliding in the fresh fallen snow, he pulled his mittens on
again, seized the straps of the drag-sleigh and went off in search of
firewood.
He returned with a full load, breathless and laughing. Warmed by his
exertion, he stripped off his mittens and went to work with flint and striker.
Falling snow dampened the shavings. Jaric cupped his hands, huddled against
the wind, but the spark fizzled again and again into frustrating curls of
smoke. The boy glanced over his shoulder, certain Telemark would arrive at any
moment. But when at last he coaxed a small flame from the chips, the forester
had not yet returned. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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