High Sorcery Read Online Free PDF Page B

traveling machine. But how grim, ugly. This is better!”
    Guards, machine, all were swept away. Craike caught his breath at the sight of delicate winged creatures dancing in the air, displaying a joy of life he had never known. Fawns, little people of the wild, came to mingle with shapes of such beauty and desire that at last he turned his head away.
    â€œIllusion.” Her voice was hard and mocking.

    But Craike could not believe that what he had seen had been born from hardness and mockery.
    â€œAll illusions. We shall be better now with warriors. As for plans, can you suggest any better than to remain here and take what fortune sends, for a space?”
    â€œThose winged dancers—where?”
    â€œIllusions!” she returned harshly. “But such games tire one. I do not think we shall conjure up any garrison before they are needed. Come, do not tear open those wounds of yours anew, for healing is no illusion and drains one even more of the power.”
    The clawed furrows were healing cleanly, though he would bear their scars for life. He hobbled back to the grass bed and dropped upon it, but regretted the erasure of the sprites she had shown him.
    Once he was safely in place, Takya left with the curt explanation that she had things to do. But Craike was restless, too much so to remain long inside the tower. He waited until she had gone and then, with the aid of his staff, climbed to the end of the span above the river. From here the twin tower on the other bank looked the same as the one from which he had come. Whether it was also haunted Craike did not know. But, as he looked about, he could see the sense of Tayka’s suggestion. A few illusion sentries would discourage any ordinary intrusion.
    Takya’s housekeeping had changed the rock of offerings. All the rotten debris was gone and none of the odor of decay now offended the nostrils at a change of wind. But at best it was a most uncertain source of supply. There could not be too many farms up river, nor too many travelers taking the waterway.
    As if to refute that, his Esper sense brought him sudden warning of strangers beyond the upper bend. But, Craike tensed, these were no peasants bound for the market at Sampur. Fear, pain, anger—such emotions heralded their coming. There were three, and one was hurt. But they were not Esper; nor did they serve the Black Hoods, though they were, or had been, fighting men.
    A brutal journey over the mountains where they had lost comrades, the finding of this river, the theft of the dugout they now used so expertly—it was all there for him to read. And beneath that there was something else, which, when he found it, gave Craike a quick decision in their favor—a deep hatred of the Black Hoods! They were outlaws, very closeto despair, keeping on a hopeless trail because it was not in them to surrender.
    Craike contacted them subtly. They must not think they were heading into an Esper trap. He would plant a little hope, a faint suggestion that there was a safe camping place ahead; that was all he could do at present. But so he drew them on.
    â€œNo!” A ruthless order cut across his line of contact, striking at the delicate thread with which he was playing the strangers in. But Craike stood firm. “Yes, yes, and yes!”
    He was on guard instantly. Takya, mistress of illusion as she had proved herself to be, might act. But surprisingly she did not. The dugout came into view, carried more by the current than the efforts of its crew. One lay full length in the bottom, while the bow paddler had slumped forward. But the man in the stern was bringing them in. And Craike strengthened his invisible, unheard invitation to urge him on.
    VI
    Takya had not yet begun to fight. As the dugout swung toward the offering ledge one of the Black Hoods’ guardsmen appeared there, his drawn sword taking fire from the sun. The fugitive steersman faltered until the current drew his craft on. Craike