Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [0]
ALIEN
ALIENS
ALIEN3
CARNIVORES OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS
THE DIG
THE I INSIDE
INTO THE OUT OF
THE MAN WHO USED THE UNIVERSE
MONTEZUMA STRIP
SHADOWKEEP
SPELLSINGER
SPELLSINGER II: THE HOUR OF THE GATE
SPELLSINGER III: THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
SPELLSINGER IV: THE MOMENT OF THE MAGICIAN
SPELLSINGER V: THE PATHS OF THE PERAMBULATOR
SPELLSINGER VI: THE TIME OF THE TRANSFERENCE
SPELLSINGER VII: CHORUS SKATING
TO THE VANISHING POINT
INTO THE THINKING KINGDOMS. Copyright © 1999 by Thranx, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
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ISBN: 978-0-7595-2331-9
A trade paperback edition of this book was published in 1999 by Warner Books.
First eBook Edition: February 2001
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For my niece, Alexandra Rachel Carroll
Contents
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
I
The most powerful man in the world couldn’t sleep.
At least Hymneth the Possessed thought of himself as the most powerful man in the world, and since those few who might have contemplated disputing him were no longer alive, he felt comfortable with having appropriated the title to himself. And if not the most powerful man, then he was certainly the most powerful mage. Granted that there might be a handful of imprudent individuals foolhardy enough to stand before him as men and women, there were none who dared confront him in the realm of the arcane and necromantic. There he was the Master of masters, and all who dabbled in the black arts must pay him homage, or suffer his whims at their peril.
Yet despite the knowing of this, and the sum of all his knowing, he could not sleep.
Rising from his bed, a graven cathedral to Morpheus that had taken the ten finest wood-carvers in the land six years to render from select pieces of cobal, redwood, cherry, walnut, and purpleheart, Hymneth walked slowly to the vaulted window that looked out upon his kingdom. The rich and populous reach of Ehl-Larimar stretched out before him, from the rolling green hills at the base of his mountaintop fortress retreat to the distant, sun-washed shores of the boundless ocean called Aurel. Every home and farm, every shop and industry within that field of view acknowledged him as supreme over all other earthly authorities. He tried to submerge his soul in the warmth and security of that understanding, to let it wash over and burnish him like a shower of liquid pleasure. But he could not.
He couldn’t shake the accursed dream that had kept him awake.
Worse than the loss of sleep was his inability to recall the details. Nebulous, hazy images of other beings had tormented his rest. Awake, he found that he was unable to remember them with any degree of resolution. His inability to identify them meant it was impossible to deal with their condition or take steps to prevent their return. He was convinced that some of the likenesses had been human, others not. Why they should disturb him so he could not say. Unable to distinguish them from any other wraiths, he could not formulate a means for dealing with them directly. The situation was more than merely irritating. Priding himself as he did on the precision with which he conducted all his dealings, the persisting inexactitude of the dream was disquieting.
He would go out, he decided. Out among his people. Receiving their obeisance, grandly deigning to acknowledge their fealty, always made him feel better. Walking to the center of the grandiose but impeccably decorated bedroom, he stood in the center of the floor, raised his arms, and recited one of