The Stone of Farewell by Tad Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

blacken and fall inward. A moment later, wavering crimson fire blossomed in the empty pits and the labored breathing stopped. Somebody shrieked, a thin cry that quickly fell away into choking silence.
    Like the clammy, crushing grip of a titan hand, loathing and raw dread reached out and enfolded the entire camp as the prisoner spoke.
    “So,” it said. Nothing human was left in its tones, only the dreadful, icy inflection of empty spaces; the voice droned and blew like a black, unfenced wind. “This would have been much the easier way... but a swift death that comes in sleep is denied to you, now.”
    Deornoth felt his own heart speeding like a snared rabbit’s, speeding until he thought it might leap from his breast. He felt the strength flowing out of his fingers, even as they clutched at the body that had once been Ostrael Firsfram’s son. Through the tattered shirt he could feel flesh chill as a headstone but nevertheless trembling with awful vitality.
    “What are you!?” Josua said, struggling to keep his voice even. “And what have you done to this poor man?”
    The thing chuckled, almost pleasantly, but for the awful emptiness of its voice. “I did nothing to this creature. It was already dead, of course, or nearly so — itwas not hard to find dead mortals in the ruins of your freehold, prince of rubble.”
    Somebody’s fingernails were cutting into the skin of Deornoth’s arm, but the ruined face gripped his gaze like a candle gleaming at the end of a long, black tunnel.
    “Who are you?” Josua demanded.
    “I am one of the masters of your castle... and of your ultimate death,” the thing replied with poisonous gravity. “I owe no mortal answers. If not for the bearded one’s keen eye, your throats would have all been quietly slit tonight, saving us much time and trouble. When your fleeing spirits go squealing at last into the endless Between from which we ourselves escaped, it will be by our doing. We are the Red Hand, knights of the Storm King—and He is the master of all!”
    With a hiss from the ruptured throat, the body abruptly doubled over like a hinge, struggling with the horrifying strength of a scorched snake. Deornoth felt his hold slipping away. As the fire was kicked up into fluttering sparks, he heard Vorzheva sobbing somewhere nearby. Others were filling the night with frightened cries. He was sliding off; Isorn’s weight was being pushed down on top of him. Deornoth heard the terrified shouts of his fellows intertwine with his own hysterical prayer for strength...
    Suddenly the thrashing became weaker. The body beneath him continued to flail from side to side for long moments, like a dying eel, then finally stopped.
    “What... ?” he was able to force out at last.
    Einskaldir, gasping for breath, pointed to the ground with his elbow, still maintaining a tight grip on the unmoving body. Severed by Einskaldir’s sharp knife, Ostrael’s head had rolled an arm’s length away, almost out of the firelight. Even as the company stared, the dead lips pulled back in a snarl. The crimson light was extinguished; the sockets were only empty wells. A thin whisper of sound passed the broken mouth, forced out on a last puff of breath.
    “... No escape... Norns will find... No ...” It fell silent.
     
    “By the Archangel...” Hoarse with terror, Towser the jester broke the stillness.
    Josua took a shaky breath. “We must give the demon’s victim an Aedonite burial.” The prince’s voice was firm, but it clearly took a heroic effort of will to make it so. He turned to look at Vorzheva, who was wide-eyed and slack-mouthed with shock. “And then we must flee. They are indeed pursuing us.” Josua turned and caught Deornoth’s eye, staring. “An Aedonite burial,” he repeated.
    “First,” Einskaldir panted, blood welling in a long scratch on his face, “I cut the arms and legs off, too.” He bent to the task, lifting his hand axe. The others turned away.
    The forest night crept in