03 Triumph of the Darksword by Weis & Hickman

Author:Weis & Hickman [Weis & Hickman]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-10T22:56:50.746000+00:00

"What's that?" Joram asked lazily, winking at Prince Garald, who shook his head in amused forbearance and shrugged. It was now either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on one's viewpoint. Lady Rosamund, exhausted from the day's events, had Been assisted to her bed by Marie. Lord Samuels suggested that the gentlemen gather in the sitting room with Simkin (so as not to be forced to move the invalid) and partake of a brandy themselves before going to bed, each putting off, for a few moments, the thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. ' "What news?" Joram repeated, feeling the brandy warm his blood as the fire warmed his body. Sleep was stealing up on him, putting soft hands over his eyes, whispering soothing words. "I've discovered a way to cure Gwendolyn," Simkin announced. Starting, Joram sat up straight, spilling his brandy. "That isn't funny, Simkin!" he said quietly. "I had no intention of being funny " "I think you had best drop the subject, Simkin," Prince Garald interposed sternly, his gaze going from Joram to Lord Samuels, who had pushed his brandy glass aside with a trembling hand. "I was about to suggest we retire for the night anyway. Some of us, it seems, already have." He glanced at Mosiah, asleep in his chair. "I am perfectly serious!" Simkin retorted, injured. Garald lost patience. "We have put up with your nonsense long enough. Father, would you " "It isn't nonsense." Tossing the blanket aside, Simkin sat up on the sofa. Though he answered Garald, he wasn't looking at the Prince. His gaze rested on Joram with a strange, half-serious, half-mocking expression, as though daring Joram to refuse to believe in him. "Explain yourself then," Joram said briefly, toying with the brandy glass in his hand. "Gwendolyn talks to the dead. She's obviously a throwback to the old Necromancers." Simkin squirmed into a more comfortable position. "Now, by purest coincidence, this was an affliction suffered by my little brother, Nate. Or TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD 253 was it Nat? At any rate, he used to entertain assorted ghost-ies and ghoulies nightly, causing my mother no end of worry, not to mention the tedium of being constantly wakened by clanking chains, snapping whips, and unearthly shrieks and howls. Or was that the time Aunt Betsy and Uncle Ernest came to spend their honeymoon with us? "Anyway, to continue," Simkin hurried on, seeing Joram's face grow darker, "one of the neighbors suggested that we take poor little Nat . . . Nate? Nat," he muttered, "I'm positive that's it. ... Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, whatever his name, we took the tyke to the Temple of the Necromancers." Joram, who had been staring into his brandy glass impatiently, only half-listening, turned his gaze full upon Simkin. "What did you say?" "See there, no one ever pays attention to me," Simkin complained in aggrieved tones. "I was mentioning the fact that we took little Nate to the Temple of the Necromancers.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.