The Silicon Mage by Barbara Hambly

Author:Barbara Hambly
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781453216620
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media LLC
Published: 2011-09-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter XI

“THEY’RE NOT LYING, ANTRYG.” Caris paused at the turn of the stairs, letting the squire lead the delegation down into the manor’s big hall ahead of them. Through its open double doors, wan daylight filtered up to dispel some of the gloom on the landing, showing his face paler than usual against the dark of his eyebrows and his pleated robe. “I’m frightened myself.”

“It has to be Suraklin.” Joanna glanced worriedly up at the two men. “If he’s established the computer off one of the nodes, off the energy-lines entirely...”

“Then it wouldn’t work,” Caris finished firmly.

“No, it wouldn’t,” Antryg agreed. “But for that reason it would be a splendid idea if it could be done—and, of course, all we’re going on is guesses about what’s happening, anyway. We haven’t any more proof than anyone does.”

There was an appalled silence, in which the muted scuffle of voices sounded below, and somewhere in the dim house rose the thready wail of the new baby. Hesitantly, Caris said, “Have we been wrong about everything? It can’t really be the Dead God behind it all—can it?”

Antryg grinned. “Disconcerting, isn’t it? Caris, for a man who doesn’t even believe in the Old Faith, you’re awfully worried about the return of something that supposedly never existed. I shall have to speak to the Archbishop of Angelshand about the general shakiness of religious training among the sasenna.”

“Worried?” Caris retorted, his cheekbones staining red with annoyance. “I’m frightened, and if you had the brains God gave a chicken, you’d be frightened, too!”

The demented smile widened. “Oh, I am,” he assured them cheerfully, “I am.” In a swirl of patched coat skirts and robes he clattered down the stairs ahead of them and into the hall.

Caris’ fine-cut nostrils flared and his upper lip seemed to lengthen. He started to follow, and Joanna caught his sleeve.

“It has to be Suraklin.” She heard the uncertainty in her own voice.

“I agree.” The young man threw a glance down at the brighter rectangle of the hall doorway, where Antryg could be seen, half a head taller than anyone else in the room, polishing on his shirt ruffle spectacles which had fogged slightly in the steam rising from their damp clothes. “They say the Dead God has been demanding his ancient sacrifices, ruling the town through terror. It’s only superficially different from what Suraklin did for years in Kymil. A perfect setup.”

Somewhere in the house, the baby’s cries sounded again, sharp and demanding. There was the faint creak of floorboards, and the cries ceased in a contented gurgle. Looking up into Caris’ face, Joanna saw for one moment in his eyes a look of such bitter yearning, such hopeless unhappiness, that she reached out with involuntary pity to touch his hand.

His dark eyes returned to her, briefly unmasked by the sound of the first life he had given instead of taken. Then his mouth twisted in a wry smile and he shook his head. With a warrior’s deadly lightness, he strode down the remainder of the stairs to join Antryg in the hall.

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