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.He recognized only one face among them: Helbin, chief of the Red Robes.Tol passed through the massively thick foundation walls into a chill, open chamber that comprised the entire ground floor of the tower.The ceiling of the chamber was domed.In its center was an opening, the end of a shaft that rose all the way to the tower’s peak.Shining down through this atrium was the light of Solin.Focused and clarified, the white moon’s pallid light was the only illumination in the chamber.Directly under the column of moonlight was Pakin III’s white-draped bier.The emperor was dressed in full regalia, lying on his back with his hands resting on his chest, clasping the imperial scepter.His hair and beard were the color of snow.Bathed in Solin’s cold radiance, the old emperor seemed carved out of alabaster.Humbled by this vision, Tol approached slowly.He had no specific instructions and was uncertain what he should do.His slippers made faint scuffing sounds as he circled the bier.Halfway around, he spotted another figure in white, a second Vigilant.He was pleased he wouldn’t be alone.The other mourner was kneeling, head bowed, by Pakin’s left hand.By her slenderness, Tol could tell it was a woman, perhaps one of the old emperor’s daughters.In spite of the stricture against speech it seemed wrong not to offer his sympathy.In the silence, his intake of breath sounded like a shout, and the Vigilant’s cowled head turned toward him.Green eyes flashed with surprise in the sere white light.Valaran!Whatever words he’d intended to say went unuttered as Valaran glared balefully at him.He could almost feel the darts of fury hurled by those emerald-hard eyes.She put a finger to her lips.With a thrust of her chin, she indicated he should take his place on the other side of the bier, at the emperor’s right hand.Tol drew Number Six in a swift motion.After saluting Pakin III with broad sweeps of his saber, Tol knelt in the appointed place, laid his weapon down, and straightened the folds of his robe.Bowing his head, he smoothed his face into an expression of calm introspection, but inside he was fuming.How dare she treat him so coldly! Returned at last, victorious from a long campaign in the east, narrowly missing death many, many times, and still she wouldn’t even speak to him! Ten years he’d been gone-nearly eleven.Val had stopped answering his letters without one word of explanation.He’d believed their love was eternal, their passion unquenchable.What had happened?The still form of the late emperor drew his attention.Long illness had leached the color from Pakin III; his hair, beard, and skin were white as Tol’s mourning robes.A curious detail caught Tol’s attention.Where the dead man’s hands were wrapped around the handle of the scepter, the gaps between his fingers had disappeared.Finger flowed into finger without a break.Startled, Tol studied Pakin III’s face more closely.The lines on the aged face were not the sagging creases of skin, but sharper, more inflexible.His skin had an odd, flat sheen.Tol stood and leaned over the late emperor to get a better look.As he entered the moonlight, he shivered.Poets called Solin’s aura cold, but he’d never taken their words literally.Yet the light, concentrated and directed through the tower, was indeed cold, icy as a high mountain stream.It washed the warmth from Tol’s flesh, making him shiver hard.Doggedly, he persisted and touched the dead man’s hand.The hand and wrist were rigid and hard.Pakin III had turned to stone.Was this a statue, standing in for the frail remains of the late emperor? Closer inspection forced Tol to abandon that notion.On the back of Pakin III’s thin hand white hairs still sprouted, and age spots discolored the surface-yet the flesh had become something akin to alabaster.This then must be a special rite of the wizards’ college, a bizarre magical embalming that slowly turned Pakin III’s mortal remains into imperishable stone.Valaran was watching him disapprovingly.The hood of her gown left only the oval of her face exposed.Contrasted against the white silk, her skin was a warm rose color.She’d never been an outdoor type, preferring the shadowed corridors of the palace, a quiet library, or the wizards’ garden by night.Warm memories of the latter brought color to Tol’s face.Clearing his throat, he resumed his kneeling posture.Many times Val had shared with him whatever weighty tome she was reading.Books about the bloody deeds of her ancestors, the religious practices of the Silvanesti, or the marriage customs of gnomes, all were eagerly devoured by the inquisitive girl [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]