I Promise You a Crown by Julian of Norwich

Author:Julian of Norwich [Norwich, Julian of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Religion, Spiritual Life, Christian life, Christianity
ISBN: 9781556616068
Publisher: Bethany House Publishers
Published: 1973-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Wary as they were, none of them saw the skull that floated along behind them, for it was cloaked in

magics that made it invisible. The lich lord’s cold gaze was bent steadily on the small band-in

particular, on the slim form of the maid among them. Nightfall approached slowly as the day went on—

too slowly, it seemed. Iliph Thraun was getting hungry again.

The day wore on in an endless struggle up and down treacherous slopes and breakneck ravines.

Everywhere around the travelers rose the crags and outcrops that gave the Stonelands their name. The

Lord of Waterdeep, the dwarf, the bearer of spellfire, and the young mage who’d married her struggled

through the broken lands, scraping and bruising elbows and knees on the everpresent rocks.

As they went, Mirt spoke seldom-no surprise, for he was wheezing and puffing like an old and

indignant goat. When he did break silence. it was always to cheer them with tales of skeletal trolls,

monstrous ettins and hobgoblins, and sly, cruel-fingered goblins who lurked in the Stonelands,

dragging intruders down in ambushes or stonefall traps and feeding on them.

“Do you mind belting up, merchant?” Narm asked at last, exasperated. The young mage was white to

the lips from fear, and he cast involuntary glances at every bush and shadow as they walked.

Mirt chuckled and clapped him on the back, a mighty blow that nearly sent the mage sprawling. “Ah,

stop me vitals, lad,” he rumbled, “but it’s good to see some spirit in ye at last.”

Delg squinted up at the fat merchant. “Speaking of ‘spirit in you,’ I recall seeing that bottle of

amberjack in your bag-and wondering what else it might be hiding from us, too. Berduskan dark,

perhaps? Or have you a little winter wine?”

Mirt chuckled. “I once had a considerable cellar in here, aye-but traveling ‘s thirsty work, and most of

the stock’s gone now. Moreover, friend Delg, this is not the sort of country one should try legging it

through with a few skins of wine on board. Falling and breaking bones is easy enough when sober.”

“A lecture on morals and practicality from Mirt the Moneylender?” Delg put his hands to his open

mouth in mock amazement.

“Stow it, little one,” Mirt suggested in kindly tones, then led the way along the winding, snakelike crest

of a ridge that headed west, on into the seemingly endless maze of rocky heights and tree-cloaked

ravines.

As the group climbed and clambered on, Shandril’s fingers went numb from clawing at too many rocks,

and she felt a growing weakness-an emptiness-inside. What was wrong with her? She sighed, drawing

an anxious look from Narm, which she put off with a smile. Scratching at a scrape on her arm, Shandril

wondered how much more of this punishing travel she’d be able to last through.

Overhead, the sun had passed its height, and was beginning the long slide toward sunset. As she

squinted at it, Narm voiced the thought that had just come into her own mind.

“I’m not liking the idea of camping in this, somewhere on the side of a rockfall,” Narm said to Mirt.

“How much farther is it

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