The Skull of the World Read Online Free PDF Page B

slope. The Khan'cohbans strapped on their skimmers and glided away quickly, with Isabeau following as fast as she could.
    The Khan'cohbans gave her no respite, only waiting long enough for her to catch up with them before climbing up into a steep ravine with long strides that left her panting along behind. At last the ravine came to an end in a steep cliff. On either side were occasional clefts or caves, most quite shallow. Isabeau could smell smoke, and the mouth of the largest of the caves was illuminated with the uncertain light of a fire. It was close to dawn and Isabeau was stumbling with weariness. She followed them up the steep rocky path until they reached the mouth of the cave, looking about her with interest. The leader of the Scarred Warriors pointed at the ground. "Stay," he said.
    Isabeau nodded, though disappointment filled her. She was cold, tired and hungry and had hoped for a more comfortable resting spot than an icy rock ledge. As the Kahn'cohbans disappeared inside the cave she wrapped her damp furs closer about her and squatted down in the shelter of a boulder. Buba flitted down, silent as a snowflake, and perched on her knee, the round golden eyes inscrutable. Isabeau smoothed down the tufted ears with one finger, allowed the owl to creep within her sleeve, then rested her head on her arms.
    She was woken from an uneasy doze by the sound of someone approaching. Isabeau jerked her head up and saw a tall woman coming up beside her. The sky above the valley walls was pale, almost colorless, and the light had the peculiar clarity that dawn brings. Isabeau stared at the Khan'cohban warrior and felt a little shock as the woman bent down to speak to her.
    "Iseult?" she said dazed, looking up into eyes as vividly blue as her own.
    The Khan'cohban woman scowled, the blue eyes as cold as glacial ice. "Come," she snapped. "Old Mother has granted you audience."
    Isabeau stared at her without moving for a moment, thoughts jostling through her mind. The Khan'cohban did not have blue eyes. Their irises were clear and pellucid as water. The Khan'cohbans did not have pale skin liberally bespattered with freckles. Their skin was swarthy with white shaggy eyebrows. This woman's brows were red and finely marked. Although her hair was hidden by her fur cap, Isabeau had no doubt it would be as red as her own. Yet her features were unmistakably those of a Khan'cohban, with strong, prominent bones, a beak of a nose, and heavy eyelids.
    Isabeau followed the blue-eyed Khan'cohban into the cave, nibbling the tip of her glove thoughtfully. This must be a descendant of the Firemaker's sister, who had been rescued from exposure in the snows by the Pride of the Fighting Cats many years before. That would make her some kind of cousin to Isabeau and her twin sister Iseult. The apprentice witch had been without family for so long she could only feel pleasure at the idea of meeting a relative, but it was obvious the Khan'cohban regarded her with resentment and suspicion. Her back was stiff, her hands clenched by her sides, her gaze averted. Isabeau remembered the troubled history of the Firemaker's family and said nothing.
    The cave was low and dank-smelling, lit only by the bonfire built toward the back. A heavy pall of smoke hung in the air, making Isabeau's eyes sting. Sitting around the fire in the familiar cross-legged position were the Old Mother and the council of Scarred Warriors. Further away from the fire sat the storytellers, the metalsmiths, the weavers and the Firekeepers. All cast her one quick glance then lowered their eyes to their hands, returning to their work.
    Isabeau knelt before the Old Mother, not daring to scrutinize her face though she longed to search for a resemblance to her great-grandmother, the Fire-maker. After a while the First of the Scarred Warriors demanded, "You have dared to cross our boundaries. What is your business here?"
    Isabeau lifted her staff so they could see the red-dyed feathers and tassels.