Krull by Alan Dean Foster

Author:Alan Dean Foster [Foster, Alan Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0446306428
Publisher: Warner Books
Published: 1983-07-08T07:00:00+00:00

Like Colwyn, Torquil was searching for signs that this spot represented the end of their search. Like him, he found nothing.

"Are you sure this is the place, old man?"

"The boy will know," the changeling replied sibilantly.

Titch looked to his master. "We are in sight of the trees, brother."

Ynyr frowned as the silence stretched into minutes. He didn't understand his old friend's hesitation. Of course, he had no knowledge of the proper procedure to follow. Perhaps this contemplative pause on the part of the seer was how the enchantment began. Still, something didn't feel right to him. He kept his concern to himself, however. The seer is old. Give him time.

At last he spoke and Ynyr was able to relax.

"He who seeks the knowledge must lead me to the appointed place. No one else may approach. The magic is powerful. Have a care you all stand well back." Torquil and his men needed no further urging. They stepped several paces farther back from the tri-trunked tree.

Colwyn exchanged places with Torquil, waited until the seer had a comfortable grip on his shoulder. "How do I lead you, wise one?"

"Toward the trees, and away from your friends. Toward enlightenment, Colwyn of Turold."

Keeping a tight rein on his growing sense of excitement, Colwyn led the seer toward the trees. There was a faint trembling in the old man's wrist, and Colwyn thought that he too must be excited at what was to come.

Soon they had approached to within touching distance of the gnarled old bark. Colwyn halted. They'd distanced themselves considerably from the others and mist hid them from view.

"What happens now, wise one?"

"As I promised, enlightenment." The long, dexterous fingers slid gently upward, from shoulder to neck. "Here is the knowledge you seek."

The fingers started to tighten convulsively even as something in the seer's tone caused Colwyn to whirl. So fast did he twist, that the changeling's grip was not secured, the fingers not quite in place to snap the neck. But they did not fall away. Instead, they continued to contract around the startled Colwyn's neck even as he hammered desperately at the powerful arm.

Another second and Colwyn would die, his head forced back at an impossible angle by the changeling's inhuman strength. Another second . . . and the pressure vanished from Colwyn's throat.

He staggered for a moment, rubbing at his bruised neck and staring at the swaying figure of the seer-that-was-not even as he drew the knife at his belt. Stared at the seer's shoulder, now ragged and bloody.

Flung with enormous force by the onrushing Rell from a good fifty yards distant, the huge trident had ripped into the changeling's back. Staggering backward, the creature flailed at Colwyn. But now the intended victim was on guard.

Colwyn stepped forward and drove inward with his knife. No longer was it the image of the seer that he fought. That kindly, wise old visage was coming apart even as he fought it, even as the hand that had sought his throat had changed into a grotesque, groping claw.

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