Into The Dark Flame (Book 4) by Martin Ash Read Free Book Online

forward with an awkward slewing gait, popping a crunchy sweetmeat into his mouth, and gazed down at Leth where he lay senseless upon a well-scrubbed tabletop. Leth's eyelids flickered. The twisted man prodded his ribs with the handle of a spoon. Leth half-opened his eyes.
       The twisted man smiled a crooked smile. 'Ah good, you are awake. Be careful how you rise, now. Don't tumble from the table and harm yourself.'
       He dragged himself away and sat in a commodious carved chair, upholstered in orange velvet, set before a blazing hearth. Leth gingerly eased himself into a sitting position, his head pounding, vision a blur. 'What happened?'
       The twisted man gave a throaty chuckle. 'You had rather a nasty fall.'
       He reached out with his good arm and took another sweetmeat from a silver tray beside him. His eyes on Leth, he placed it upon his tongue and began to chew.
       Leth peered at him through wincing eyes. 'Where am I?'
       'You are here, with myself and my beautiful spouse, in our home, the Tower of Glancing Memory. Here, let me be of assistance. Take some water.'
       Leth, still slumped upon the table, propped himself against the wall at his back. He watched as his host poured clear water into a goblet and brought it over. Leth saw a man in his young middle-age, of average height, garbed in a long robe of sleek, dark purple material bound at the waist with a deep green cummerbund. His body was somewhat bent and crooked: the upper portion inclined forward and skewed to the right side, the pelvis thrust out leftwards. Leth could not see his feet, but judged from his dragging, rolling gait that he was club-footed or at least had one leg significantly shorter than the other. The twisted man's left shoulder was high and hunched, the left arm extending only as far as the waist and ending in a shrivelled fingerless hand which was clutched in a gnarled ball, by all appearances rigid. He was spare and awkward of build. His head was long, with a thin straight nose. Arsenical shadows had gathered about his eyes, supplemented by heavy sacks of drooping flesh. His gaze, no matter his solicitous manner, was distant and held little warmth. The mouth was formed of loose, fleshy red lips, the lower one slightly protruding, tight and downturned at the corners, set above a short, stubbly chin. Thin dark long hair was oiled close upon his crown.
       He placed the cool goblet on the table a little way from Leth. 'This will help. And eat if you wish, though I suspect you may prefer to wait awhile.'
       Leth took a sip, grateful for the cold bright water. 'I’m sorry, I remember almost nothing. Can I ask who you are, and how I come to be here?'
       'Aha!' replied the man, backing away. He gave a small flourish of his good hand. 'Well, it is hardly surprising that your memory fails you. You came here via the Shore of Nothing, after all. It is a rare man who can survive such a journey. As for your other question, I am Urch-Malmain.'
       It seemed to Leth that the name was not wholly unfamiliar. He had heard it . . . when? Hours ago? A lifetime? For the moment, at least, it plucked no specific chord.
       'And you are the Swordbearer, who calls himself Leth - or Leth, who calls himself the Swordbearer. One and the same. Is that not so?' Urch-Malmain asked.
       Leth gave no answer. His eyes had alighted upon the Orbsword, which rested in its scabbard upon a bracket on one wall. It was bound tightly in a web of silver chains.
       'Ah yes, your blade,' said his host, following the direction of his gaze. 'I do apologize, but rumour has it that you have trained the sword to obey your every command. Hence, until we have gained a fuller acquaintance with each other, and hopefully established a condition of mutual trust and understanding, I thought it advisable to have the weapon confined.'
       A spasm of pain shot through Leth's head. He squeezed shut his eyes, and grimaced.
       'Ah, my lovely wife!' declared