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.Eyes bolting open, she stared into the animalistic face of the WordMaker as he squatted over her.In one clawed hand, he held a knife; in the other, he held bloody strips of clothing.There was a sharp tearing sound and more pain as he sliced away the frozen shreds of her parka.In a matter of moments, her hands, shoulder, and toes burned like fire as the lodge's heat penetrated her frostbitten skin.Martine's muscles trembled uncontrollably.The gnoll pressed a bony knee into her stomach and snarled, "Lie still, human.I will not let you die." The words were more threat than promise.Finally the shaman finished cutting his patient free from her garments, leaving her gashed shoulder exposed.With a sharp claw, he scraped away the frozen blood and dirt in each gouge, releasing new welling streams that flowed down over her skin.With each scrape, the ranger felt hot jets of pain.Finally the shaman sat on her torso to pin her down.Martine ground her teeth in a futile effort to keep from screaming.Nothing remained of the real world but the gnoll's grinning face and her own agony, until finally the pain was so intense it no longer mattered.At last the gnoll stopped, and the spasms subsided.Dimly the ranger could see him holding an unfamiliar charm, circling it over her wounds."Bones knit.Skin seal." The shaman chanted his droning prayer over and over as he rubbed one hand over her injured shoulder.Almost immediately the pain in Martine's wounds took on a new dimension.The dullness of overstressed nerves transformed as new pains jangled alarms.Tendons and muscles shifted under the tingling fire emanating from the gnoll's palm.Her whole arm jerked spasmodically as strange signals aroused her dormant muscles.Without stopping his prayer, the shaman slid his hand across thewoman's body, letting the power of his spell penetrate.Deep in her chest, Martine felt her ribs clutch and seize, then settle into a soothing numbness.The frostbitten fire surged in her extremities.Then suddenly the pain, all of it, old and new, abruptly ended.The absence of any feeling was almost as excruciating as the pain itself.Dimly Martine realized she lay soaked in sweat, her jaw clenched so tight she thought it was locked.It was done.Word-Maker took his hand away and ended his prayer with a final harsh benediction, then prodded and poked at Martine, examining his handiwork."Gorellik has favored me, outsider," the shaman remarked as he packed away his charm."He has shown his blessing to a human and let us both live.Your wounds are healed."Martine barely heard the gnoll, so overwhelmed was she by the emptiness that replaced her pain.Thank him, a small voice within her said.`°Thank thank you," the Harper stammered brokenly.In a language she seldom used, her words were stiffly formed.The cold, the battles, and the healing had left her drained, until even speech was a prodigious effort.She tried to raise a hand, but her muscles were limp and helpless after her ordeal.Word-Maker noted her effort and snorted as he stood, wrapping his dirty robes over his sharp shoulders."I go tell Elk-Slayer of my success.I leave you here unbound.If you try to escape, you will only freeze in the snow" Saying no more he slipped past the door flaps and out into the nightIt's an accurate prediction, even if I could get outside, the Harper thought, but I'm not helpless.If only I can get a message to Jazrac… a letter.He might scry and see it, even without the dagger.That thin hope kept Martine from collapse as she slowly gathered the simple materials for the task.A half-burnt stick, scraped from the lodge's small fire, became a pen, a curl of birchbark her paper.Poised to write, Martine paused.I'm overreacting.I've made it through the worst, she chided herself.If I call for help now, that'll be a sign of weakness.I've got to prove to jazrac I can be a Harper.I can make it.I know I can.Taking a deep breath to steady her hand, the ranger slowly scratched block letters on the inside of the bark.Hole sealed.Guest ofgnolls.Will escape.Don't worry.Not hurt.M.Finished, the ranger looked at the message with the addled confidence of exhaustion.I can do this.All I need is Jazrac's knife, she told herself as she carefully rolled the bark into a tube and tucked it away out of sightDisregarding the fleas and lice, Martine pulled the furs around her and lay back, waiting for sleep to overtake her.Overhead, the whistling blasts of the wind shook the wicker frame of the hut till the necklaces hanging from its spars began to vibrate softly, chattering their tales.Just as she was about to drift into sleep, she heard a hissing wail from somewhere in the frigid night.It was a cold voice that scoured the sky with its fiendish rage, and Martine knew the thing on the glacier was hunting.Comforting sleep never came.SixMartine was awake again when daylight seeped through the cracks around the hut's doors.The woman felt none of the relief rest would normally bring, only a blurry haze of fear and confusion.She couldn't even remember sleeping.Perhaps she had, only to suffer dreams no different from her waking fears.With the magical healing and what little rest she might have stolen, the ranger did feel somewhat stronger, although not fully herself yet.Martine gingerly touched the still unclosed wounds on her shoulder.The imp's slash marks were smaller, crusted over, and free of infection, but the skin was still stiff, and each move risked pulling the gashes open.Clearly the damage had been more than the gnoll's single spell could mend.No fighting for me yet, she decided, not for a few days at least.She smiled ruefully.It was unlikely there would be any need to, at any rate.Weaponless and opposed by an entire tribe, her chances of escaping seemed dim indeed.The ranger's thoughts were interrupted by the stiff rustling of the door curtain.Bright sunshine illuminated the hut as the gaunt Word-Maker stooped to pass through the doorway.The wind swirled ashes from the ebbing fire, adding to the thickness of the air.The gnoll held the door flap open with one lanky arm, draining the scant heat from the small lodge.He was still dressed as the woman vaguely remembered him from last night.The bindings wound round his arms and legs were not bandages as she thought then, but wrappings made from scraps of cloth and leather layered over buckskin.Thongs bound the windings like cross-gartered hose, reminding Martine of an impoverished courtier she'd once met in Selgaunt.Bits of fur and fabric hung in loose bits beneath the straps.In the light, Martine could see that the straps were spiked where they crossed the backs of the gnoll's hands and wound through his fingers.It was ornamentation heightened to barbaric fashion, for the nails, gleaming silver, seemed incredibly sharp.She remembered his bare chest from last night; today it was covered by a dyed leather shirt, printed in block patterns that duplicated the shining nailwork of his cross-belts.The bearskin cloak of last night hung loosely from one shoulder."Good.You are awake, human," grunted the gnoll.Martine was too dazed to do anything more than stare wildly at him."Get up.Hakk wants you."The command jolted her back to the present."To kill me?" the Harper asked warily [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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