Garan the Eternal by Andre Norton Read Free Book Online

did not see another war. . . .”
    “But he saw an end to Kepta!”
    Trar straightened as if some burden had rolled from his thin shoulders. “You speak well, Lord. When there is one to sit upon the Rose Throne, what have we to fear? Listen, oh ye Folk, the Light has returned to the Caverns!”
    His cry was echoed by the gathering of the Folk.
    “And now, Lord"—he turned to Dandtan with deference —"what are your commands?”
    “For the space of one sleep I shall enter the Chamber of Renewing with this outlander, who is no longer an out-lander, but one Garin, accepted by the Daughter according to the law. And while we rest let all be made ready. . . .”
    “The Dweller in the Light has spoken!” Trar himself escorted them from the Hall.
    They came, through many winding passages, to a deep pool of water, in the depths of which lurked odd purple shadows. Dandtan stripped and plunged in, Garin following his example. The water was tinglingly alive and they did not linger in it long. From it they went to a bubble room such as the one Garin had rested in after the bath of light rays; on the cushions in its center they stretched their tired bodies.
    When Garin awoke he experienced the same exultation he had felt before. Dandtan regarded him with a smile. “Now to work,” he said, as he reached out to press a knob set in the wall.
    Two of the Folk appeared, bringing with them clean trappings. After they dressed and ate, Dandtan started for the laboratories. Garin would have gone with him, but Sera intercepted them.
    “The Daughter would like to speak with Lord Garin. . . .”
    Dandtan laughed. “Go,” he ordered. “Thrala’s commands may not be slighted.”
    The Hall of Women was deserted. And the corridor beyond, roofed and walled with slabs of rose-shot crystal, wasas empty. Sera drew aside a golden curtain and they were in the Daughter’s audience chamber.
    A semi-circular dais of the clearest crystal, heaped with rose and gold cushions, faced them. Before it, a fountain, in the form of a flower nodding on a curved stem, sent a spray of water into a shallow basin. The walls of the room were divided into alcoves by marble pillars, each one curved in the semblance of a tree frond.
    From the domed ceiling, on chains of twisted gold, seven lamps, each wrought from a single yellow sapphire, gave soft light. The floor was a mosaic of gold and crystal.
    Two small Anas, who had been playing among the cushions, pattered up to exchange greetings with Garin’s. But of the mistress of the chamber there was no sign. Garin turned to Sera, but before he could phrase his question, she asked mockingly:
    “Who is the Lord Garin that he cannot wait with patience?” But she left in search of the Daughter.
    Garin glanced uneasily about the room. The jeweled chamber was no place for him. He had started toward the door when Thrala stepped within.
    “Greetings to the Daughter.” His voice sounded formal and cold, even to himself.
    Her hands, which had been held out in welcome, dropped to her sides. A ghost of a frown marred her beauty.
    “Greetings, Garin,” she returned slowly.
    “You sent for me—” he prompted, eager to escape from this jewel box and the unattainable treasure it held.
    “Yes.” The coldness of her tone was of an exile. “I wished to know how you fared and whether your wounds yet troubled you.”
    He looked down at his own smooth flesh, cleanly healed by the wisdom of the Folk. “I am myself again and eager to be at such work as Dandtan can find for me. . . .”
    Her robe seemed to hiss across the floor as she turned upon him. “Then you had better go—now,” she ordered.
    And blindly he obeyed. She had spoken as if to a servant, one whom she could summon and dismiss by whim. Even if Dandtan held her love, she might have extended him her friendship. But he knew within him that friendship would be a poor crumb beside the feast for which his pulses pounded.
    There was a pattering of feet behind him. So,