By Carol Berg
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Additional info for The Soul Weaver
Sample text
But even as I fought to knit together the ragged edges of her heart, her last remnants of thought and reason flicked out. Her screams sagged into a low, flat wail... and then silence. I had lost her. Let her go, I told myself, you can't help her by traveling the only road she has yet to travel. That road is not for you... not yet. " My companion cut away the strip of linen that bound my forearm to Jayereth's and allowed our mingled blood to feed my sorcery. The cold touch that seared my flesh was not his knife - his hand was too experienced for that - but the sealing of a scar that would forever remind me of my failure in my young counselor's last need.
Mordemar... " "... " She dangled a tiny silver medallion from her fingers on a fine silver chain that chinked lightly as she teased my eye. " The slip of metal she dropped into my fingers might have been a sliver of ice, setting my every hair crackling with frost, every pore stinging with life and health - monumental enchantment. The key, indeed! I'd sworn that no Dar'Nethi would wear the slave collars of the Zhev'Na one moment longer than I could prevent, and the companion vow was to rob the Lords of the mordemar they used to seal the collars, the vile material that stripped a Dar'Nethi of the substance of his soul and with it all power for sorcery.
Jayereth scandalized many of the elder Dar'Nethi, who had not yet recognized the wisdom beneath her youthful irreverence. " I felt unremittingly dull, perhaps because I'd been sitting in this Preceptorate meeting since breakfast. Men'Thor had just left the chamber after sitting all day in the row of six auditors' chairs, here again at his father Ustele's invitation. Between them they had added another six hours to their four years of argument that my plan to defeat the Lords of Zhev'Na without bloodshed could never work.
The Soul Weaver by Carol Berg
by Christopher
4.4