Darksword - 01 - Forging the Darksword by Tracy Hickman

Author:Tracy Hickman
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780553268942
Publisher: Bantam Books
Published: 1987-12-01T00:33:05+00:00

5

The Wedding Feast

Saryon paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, in the small cavern chamber until, too exhausted to take another step, he collapsed onto a soft, leafy bower and, groaning, let his head sink into his hands.

“I say, old boy, cheer up! You’re the bridegroom, the reason for the feast—not its main course.”

At the sound of the cheerful voice, Saryon raised his haggard face.

“What have you gotten me into! You have—”

“There, there, calmly, old boy, calmly,” Simkin said with a laugh and a grin as he entered the room. Nodding his head casually behind him, he gripped Saryon’s wrist tightly and jerked him up off the bed. “Company,” he muttered under his breath. “We can talk back here,” he added, steering the catalyst toward the far end of the cavern.

Glancing over his shoulder, Saryon saw several of the faeriefolk standing or flitting about the doorway, leering at him, giggling, and winking. With the arrival of the faeries, the cavern that up until now had been dark and peaceful erupted into chaos. Highly sensual beings, faeries live literally from moment to moment. Their only object in life is to indulge themselves in any sensation that will give them an instant’s gratification. The magic of the world flows through them like wine, they live in a constant state of intoxication. Neither rules nor morals govern their actions; no conscience guides them. Each does as he or she pleases without regard to others. Their only bond, and the only force that keeps their small band together, is their unswerving loyalty to their Queen. When her mind is with them, there is some semblance of order. But once it is withdrawn …

Saryon stared in shock. Where previously a leafy, fragrant bower had filled one corner of the shadowy cavern, now a great pool of water stood there, lilies and swans floating upon its surface. An instant’s time changed the swans to horses, splashing frantically to escape the water, the lilies were parrots, screeching raucously and flapping about the caverns. And then the pool was a coach, drawn by the horses, who came charging straight at the catalyst. Shutting his eyes and flinging his arms over his head with a shriek, Saryon felt the steeds’ hot breath and heard the thunder of their hooves, expecting to be crushed at any second. Laughter hooted around him. Opening his eyes, he saw the horses change to lambs that gamboled at his feet while he screamed in terror. His breath catching in his throat, Saryon staggered backward, only to feel Simkin’s arm embrace him firmly.

“Don’t look,” said the young man, forcibly turning Saryon around.

Closing his eyes, Saryon drew in a deep breath, only to regret it immediately. Every smell conceivable flew up his nostrils and down his lungs—delicate perfumes, foul odors of decaying bodies, the smell of freshly baked bread.

“What must I do now? Quit breathing?” he asked Simkin. But the young man ignored him.

“That’s better,” said Simkin, patting Saryon’s hand solicitously. Turning to the faeries crowded in the doorway, he added by way of explanation, “Touch of nerves.

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