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.So he climbed up to the falls behind the village and leapt off the cliff there.”The ghost paused here and looked at them expectantly.Jute took the bait.He could not help himself.“What happened? Did he fly?”“Ah, no,” said the ghost happily.“No, he didn’t.I’m sad to say he dropped like a rock.Plunged straight down.Dillo would’ve hit the bottom if it weren’t for the other spell.The spell that divided time.I daresay he must’ve been frantic, screaming and hollering and trying to figure any way out of his own foolishness.That was when he got the bright idea to divide time.If he could only slow time down, then he would have more time to start flying and not end up a smear on the rocks below.About ten feet short of those rocks, Dillo divided time.And time kept on dividing.”“What do you mean?” said Jute.“What happened?”“What I mean,” said the ghost, “is that Dillo cast his last spell a little too effectively.Sheer terror can do that for you.If you go to the falls above that town, you’ll see the skeleton of poor Dillo hanging in the air about ten feet above the rocks, for time’s still happily dividing away at that particular spot.”“That’s absurd,” said the hawk, unable to keep his beak shut any longer.“Of all the ridiculous stories you’ve told, that’s the most ridiculous story yet.Time can’t be stopped.”“I don’t tell ridiculous stories,” said the ghost.“I tell only serious stories that illustrate the wisdom gained from years as a professor.”“Will you all pipe down?”It was Declan.He stalked back toward them.“Traveling with a herd of bleating sheep would be quieter than you lot.” He scowled and even the hawk looked abashed at his rebuke.“The light’s failing and there’s no telling what the night’ll bring.We don’t need your caterwauling catching the attention of whatever’s out there.By the way, Jute?”“What?”“You’re floating.”Jute looked down and felt his stomach lurch.He was floating about a foot above the ground.His arms shot out in order to catch hold of something, anything.He overbalanced and fell flat on his face.He heard the ghost and Declan laughing and the chuckle of the hawk.And somewhere off in the distance, perhaps in his mind, he heard the airy laugh of the wind.CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVEANOTHER USE FOR DEAD DEERThe duke of Mizra’s party camped that evening on the edge of the forest.The trees loomed in the twilight like an impenetrable swath of darkness.A hundred yards away, the Rennet River flowed west toward Hearne and the sea.The water shone with moonlight, and the liquid sound of its passage was the loudest thing to be heard, for the duke’s men set up camp in silence.Several fires soon were burning and the shapes of tents heaved themselves up from the ground.The duke of Mizra sat in a chair by the fire before his tent.He stared into the flames.They flickered before him, gaining color and definition as the evening grew darker.Fire needed the darkness in order for its true color to be revealed.“My lord?”It was one of the chamberlain’s assistants.A son of a minor lord.The duke could never remember their names.They all looked the same to him.Pale, blurred faces with short lives that guttered out like candles.“My lord?”“What is it?”Brond made an effort to stretch his face into the semblance of a smile.A grimace.“The hunters have brought back deer and geese, milord.Would you prefer one or the other for supper?”“Both will do.”The boy bowed and vanished back into the twilight.Not that he needed food.Once, he had once gone without food or water for a year and it had not affected him in any way.But eating was still one of several small pleasures that life afforded him.Particularly fresh meat.Brond stared out at the forest.Not many people knew why it was called the Forest of Lome these days, but he did.He remembered.A dragon had lived there once.A dragon named Lome.The creature had lived in a cave in a spire of rock in the middle of the forest.The spire was still there, but the dragon had been dead for hundreds of years.Killed by a young man named Dolan Callas, who had later gone on to found the duchy of Dolan in the north.The forest had grown dark and thick since the death of the dragon.Brond scowled, remembering the heat of the dragon’s breath and the flames.The old trees in the forest remembered too, and he no longer went into the forest if he could help it.He felt a shift in the air behind him.A sudden chill in the breeze.“You were unsuccessful,” he said, not bothering to turn.“The bitch wolf intervened.”The voice was quiet and thin, so quiet that Brond had to strain his ears to hear.He saw what looked like a disturbance in the air, a bending of the light.It drew closer.“Again, she defeated you,” he said.“Despite the strength I lent you.”“She’s dead [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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