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Traitor's Moon

Traitor's Moon

Titel: Traitor's Moon Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Lynn Flewelling
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their own, he’d never questioned his father’s silence. Only when he’d gone to Watermead and been embraced by Micum Cavish’s family had he realized what he’d lacked. Even his formal name reflected that: plain Alec í Amasa of Kerry. Where there should be additional names to link him with his own history, there were only blanks. By the time he’d been old enough to ask such questions his father was dead, all the answers reduced to ash plowed into a stranger’s field.
    Perhaps tonight he would learn his own truth.
    He and Seregil saw Klia home, then turned their horses for the Nha’mahat.
    The Haunted City was deserted tonight, and Alec found himself starting at shadows, certain he saw movement in the empty windows or heard the whisper of voices in the sighing of the breeze.
    â€œWhat do you think will happen?” he asked at last, unable to bear the silence any longer.
    â€œI wish I could tell you, talí,” Seregil replied. “My experience wasn’t the ordinary sort. I believe it’s like the Temple of Illior; people come for visions, dreams—the rhui’auros are said to be strange guides.”
    I remember that house, that street
, Seregil thought, amazed at the power of memory.
    He’d avoided this section of the city since their arrival, but he’d come here often as a child. In those days the Nha’mahat had been anenticingly mysterious place only adults were allowed to enter, and the rhui’auros just eccentric folk who might offer sweets, stories, or a colorful spell or two if you loitered long enough between the arches of the arcade. That perception had been shattered along with his childhood when he’d finally entered the tower.
    The fragmented memories of what followed had haunted the farthest reaches of his dreams ever since, like hungry wolves hovering just outside the safe circle of a campfire’s glow.
    The black cavern.
    The stifling heat inside the tiny dhima.
    The probing magicks stripping him, turning him inside out, flaying him with every doubt, vanity, and banality of his adolescent self as the rhui’auros sought the truth behind the killing of the unfortunate Haman.
    Alec rode beside him cloaked in that special silence of his, happy, full of anticipation. Some part of Seregil longed to warn him, tell him—
    He gripped the reins so tightly that his knuckles ached.
No, never speak of that night, not even to you. Tonight I enter the tower a free man, of my own will
.
    At the command of a rhui’auros
, an inner voice reminded him, whispering from among the gaunt wolves of memory.
    Reaching the Nha’mahat at last, they dismounted and led their horses to the main door. A woman emerged from the darkened arcade and took the reins for them.
    Still Alec said nothing. No questions. No probing looks.
    Bless you, talí
.
    A rhui’auros answered their knock. The silver mask covering his face was like those worn at the Temple of Illior: smooth, serene, featureless.
    â€œWelcome,” a deep male voice greeted them from behind it.
    The tattoo on his palm was similar to those of the priests of Illior. And why not? It was the Aurënfaie who’d taught the ways of Aura to the Tír. For the first time since his arrival, it struck him how deeply intertwined the Skalans and ’faie still were, whether they realized it or not. There had been years enough for the Tír to forget, perhaps, but his own people? Not likely. Why then did some of the clans fear reclaiming the old ties?
    The man gave them masks and led them into a meditation chamber, a low, windowless room lit by niche lamps. At least a dozen people lay naked on pallets there, their dreaming faces hidden by silver masks. The damp air was heavy with thick clouds of fragrant smoke from a brazier near the center of the room. Just beyond it, abroad, circular stairway spiraled down out of sight. Wisps of steam curled up from the cavern below.
    â€œWait here,” their guide told Seregil, pointing to an empty pallet against the far wall. “Someone will come for you. Elesarit waits upstairs for Alec í Amasa.”
    Alec brushed the back of Seregil’s hand with his own, then followed the man up a narrow staircase at the back of the chamber.
    Seregil walked across to his assigned pallet. This took him past the round stairway, and his chest tightened. He knew where it led.
    Alec resisted a look back at Seregil. When the rhui’auros

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