The Silver Crown by Joel Rosenberg EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author:Joel Rosenberg
- Language: English
- Genre: Science Fiction
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The Hunter
Out of the darkness of the tent, a hand reached out and gently grasped
his shoulder. “Karl, ta ly’veth ta ahd dalazhi.” Karl, it is time to wake up.
Karl Cullinane came awake instantly. He clamped his left hand around
the slim wrist and pulled, slamming the other into the tent pole, almost
dislodging it. He brought his right hand around to block a possible knife
thrust—
—and stopped himself when he realized who it was.
“Ta havath, Karl.” Easy, Karl. Tennetty laughed, her breath warm in his
ear. She switched from Erendra to her thickly accented English as she
pushed away from him, rubbing at her shoulder. “I don’t think Andrea
would approve. Besides, if you move around much more, you’ll bring the
tent down around both our heads.”
He released her and sighed. He would have preferred Tennetty to be a
bit more nervous about waking him, a bit less trusting that he would
recognize her before doing something sudden and fatal.
“What is it, Tennetty?” he asked in Erendra. “Is the dragon here?”
Ellegon? he thought. Can you hear me?
No answer.
“Wake up, Karl—you’re a full day off. He isn’t due until tomorrow.”
“Slovotsky, then?”
She nodded. “On his way up,” Tennetty said, smiling faintly in the dim
lanternlight as she untangled herself from his blankets. “Gerrin spotted him
—and a small caravan, camped down by the fork.”
“Slavers or merchants?”
“He couldn’t tell, not from here.” She shrugged. “But if they are slavers,
it would explain Slovotsky’s return.” She rose to her knees and took up a
piece of straw from his bedding, using it to carry fire from her lantern to
his, idly pausing to straighten his tent pole in passing. Tennetty was a slim
woman, but not a soft one; beneath her ragged cotton undershirt, strong
muscles played.
“I’ve had my team’s horses saddled and ordered a general weapons
inspection.” She flashed a smile at him, then dropped it. Tennetty seemed to
have a permanent sneer, which somehow started with her narrow eyes and
continued down her thin, broken nose, all the way to her cracked lips. A
scar snaked around her right eye; a black patch covered the remains of the
left.
“You take a lot on yourself, don’t you?”
“Perhaps.” Picking up her lantern, she rose smoothly from her halfcrouch and held the tent flap for him. “Let’s go.” She hitched first at the
wide-bladed shortsword on the left side of her belt and then at the crude
flintlock pistol on the right side.
“I’ll be a minute,” he said, his hand going 1o the spider amulet secured
around his neck by a leather thong.
That was a long-standing reflex, its source back in his long-ago college
days. Karl Cullinane had always had trouble keeping track of things; pens,
pencils, books, lighters, change, and keys always seemed to vanish from his
possession, as though they had turned to air. The amulet was too important;
it couldn’t become part of that pattern of lost valuables.
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