The Skull of the World Read Online Free PDF

cold, and she gladly followed the owl along the frozen stream, sinking up to her knees in the snow, until she came to a massive old fallen hemlock.
    Isabeau clambered around the roots, which were flung up into the air like hissing snakes, and jumped down into the pit where the roots had once dug into the soil. Looking about her she gave a little murmur of appreciation. If she could not have a cave, this little pit was almost as good. Not much snow had fallen into the hollow, which was protected by the upflung roots, and there was plenty of firewood close to hand.
    She lit the fire with a snap of her fingers, blowing it into life and feeding it with scraps of bark and leaves until it was burning merrily. She then ground the nuts and bark into a handful of grain, threw in some snow and made herself a thick porridge for her dinner.
    Leaving Buba to guard her sleep, Isabeau rolled herself in her furs. It was a clear night and she stared up at the luminous stars through the fretwork of pine branches, feeling a pleasant, euphoric fatigue.
    The owl woke her only a few hours later. Isabeau opened her eyes unwillingly. Every muscle ached and the euphoria had faded into bone weariness. The bruises from her many falls were throbbing and she gave a little moan and tried to burrow herself back into sleep. The owl bobbed up and down on her chest, then, receiving nothing but another groan, pecked her sharply.
    Isabeau sat up angrily. "What be the matter, for Ea's sake?"
    Horned-hooh men pursue-hooh . . .
    Isabeau rubbed her eyes and looked about her. All was still. One of the moons had risen and cast a pale radiance over the black and silver landscape. For a moment Isabeau thought her gaze was swimming and she rubbed her eyes again, only to realize that the black dots dancing across the landscape were the shadows of people, swiftly skimming down the glacier.
    Dressed all in white, the Khan'cohbans themselves were invisible but the cold moonlight caused them to cast sharp shadows that swung and leaped as their skimmers sped down the slope in wide graceful curves.
    Isabeau crouched down, trepidation filling her. No doubt the Khan'cohbans had seen her wildly swinging witch-light and had come to investigate. In her white furs, Isabeau knew she would be difficult to find. All she needed to do was curl up in the snow and the searchers could pass within a mere foot of her and not see her. She was a trespasser on the Pride of the Fighting Cats' territory, however, and concealing herself could be misconstrued as hostile or deceitful behavior. After a moment's thought she stood up, scouted around in the snow until she found a fallen branch and then caused it to ignite into a blazing torch. She stuck it into a cleft between two rocks and then sat cross-legged on her skimmer to wait.
    The Khan'cohbans saw her fire and turned swiftly, converging on her like birds to a thrown scrap of bread. There were twenty or more of them and Isabeau had to breathe slowly and deeply to maintain her air of calm.
    They stood in silence, regarding her. Although it was night, the moon rode high in the sky and cast a brilliant light over the snow. They should be able to see the feathers decorating her staff, even if they could not tell their color. Isabeau kept her eyes lowered and waited, though every nerve was strained in anticipation of violent movement.
    Then one of the men stepped forward, pulling back his hood so she could see his thick, curling horns and the steep, dark planes of his face. One of his horns was broken and the thin line of his six scars gleamed against his olive skin. He swept two fingers to his high forehead, then to his heart, then out to the view. Isabeau lifted one hand to cover her eyes, the other hand bent outward in supplication.
    Her response must have satisfied them for the warrior said curtly, "Come."
    Isabeau nodded and gathered up her satchel and skimmer. She followed them down through the copse of trees until they came to a smooth open