Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [128]
A coldness gathered in the pit of Kern's stomach. "Are you… are you going with him?"
She regarded him curiously with her brilliant eyes. "Do you want me to, Kern?"
"I want you to be safe, Listle. If that mage-"
She interrupted him. "That wasn't what I asked."
He thought for a long moment. "No," he said finally. "I want you to stay, Listle."
"Good," she said with a laugh. "Because you're stuck with me, Kern Desanea."
He wasn't certain if he had just received a prize or a prison sentence. Kern had learned on his journey that there was more to the diminutive elf than met the eye.
Much more. And something told him he had only scratched the surface. But no matter what surprises she held for him, or what secrets she kept, he knew now that there would always be a place for her in his heart.
"I don't think I'm ever going to figure you out, Listle," he said finally, shaking his head in exasperation.
"No," she said musingly, "I don't suppose you ever will."
With that, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him fleetingly. Then, with a flicker of her ruby pendant, she vanished through the stone wall, leaving him alone.
For a long while he stared outside into the gathering night. An image came to him, of a dark tower rising above a storm-swept sea. He shivered.
"I'll never let Sifahir hurt you again, Listle," he whispered to the night. "By my oath as a paladin, never."
He turned his back on the darkened window, returning to warm firelight and companionship.
* * * * *
It was late.
The moon rose over Phlan, veiling the city in gossamer light. Everyone in Denlor's Tower was asleep, except for two figures that stood upon a high balcony, braving the cold winter night.
"What now?" Evaine asked softly.
She seemed to be questioning herself as much as her companion. Her long hair shone in the pale moonlight. The sorceress was not a pretty woman in any conventional sense, but the pearly illumination lent a softness to her sharp features and piercing eyes.
"We've both been granted second chances, Evaine," Miltiades replied. "I suppose we both have to decide what to do with them."
Evaine marveled at the paladin's rich voice, so warm and burnished, now that the sepulchral echo was gone.
"But I have decided." She turned to face him. The cold wind tangled his long dark hair. Gods, but he was handsome, she thought. But it was not his strong features that enthralled her. It was his eyes, as dark as his hair, and brimming with vitality.
"There are still pools in Faerun, Miltiades," she went on. "I can't give up my quest now."
He nodded in perfect understanding.
"I, too, have quests to finish," he said softly. "Though they may be centuries old."
The sorceress smiled crookedly. The two were silent for a time. Suddenly Evaine shivered, the winter chill creeping into her bones. Gently, Miltiades drew her to him. Once before, she had tried to embrace him, and the chill had numbed her fingers. But this time his touch was warm and welcome.
"Our quests may not be over," she murmured. "But maybe… maybe this once we can leave them until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow," he echoed.
Their embrace grew tighter, fiercer. Then, arm in arm, they stepped inside, shutting out the darkness behind them.
Moments later, a figure stirred in the shadows.
Gamaliel moved into the moonlight. A faint smile touched the barbarian man's lips. Suddenly his form blurred. A tawny cat vanished stealthily into the night, leaving the balcony empty.
This file was created with BookDesigner program
bookdesigner@the-ebook.org
2/2/2009
LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; Mikhail Sharonov, 2006; msh-tools.com/ebook/
Table of Contents
By
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20