Chronicles Of Ancient Darkness Quotes

Unending Love I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times... In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms, In life after life, in age after age, forever. Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain, It's ancient tale of being apart or together. As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge, Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time. You become an image of what is remembered forever. You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount. At the heart of time, love of one for another. We have played along side millions of lovers, Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting, the distressful tears of farewell, Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever. Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you The love of all man's days both past and forever: Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life. The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours - And the songs of every poet past and forever.

Fear is the loneliest feeling. You can be in a throng of people, but if you're afraid, you're on your own.

There was a smell of Time in the air tonight. He smiled and turned the fancy in his mind. There was a thought. What did time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time sounded like it sounded like water running in a dark cave and voices crying and dirt dropping down upon hollow box lids, and rain. And, going further, what did Time look like? Time look like snow dropping silently into a black room or it looked like a silent film in an ancient theater, 100 billion faces falling like those New Year balloons, down and down into nothing. That was how Time smelled and looked and sounded. And tonight-Tomas shoved a hand into the wind outside the truck-tonight you could almost taste time.

Sometimes there's no warning. Nothing at all.

Vengeance burns,Torak." said Fin-Kedinn as the river bore him away. "It burns your heart. It makes the pain worse. Dont let that happen to you.

Paris was a universe whole and entire unto herself, hollowed and fashioned by history; so she seemed in this age of Napoleon III with her towering buildings, her massive cathedrals, her grand boulevards and ancient winding medieval streets--as vast and indestructible as nature itself. All was embraced by her, by her volatile and enchanted populace thronging the galleries, the theaters, the cafes, giving birth over and over to genius and sanctity, philosophy and war, frivolity and the finest art; so it seemed that if all the world outside her were to sink into darkness, what was fine, what was beautiful, what was essential might there still come to its finest flower. Even the majestic trees that graced and sheltered her streets were attuned to her--and the waters of the Seine, contained and beautiful as they wound through her heart; so that the earth on that spot, so shaped by blood and consciousness, had ceased to be the earth and had become Paris.

I cannot imagine a life without books. Without Father's stories of the ancient Greek gods and goddesses, without pirate stories and fairy tales and poems. Without the hope of another way, of freedom and adventure beyond what we have here and now. How dark life would be.

"So I've got to find a mountiain that nobody's ever seen. And work out the answer to a riddle that nobody's ever solved. And kill a bear that nobody can fight." Renn sucked in her breath. "You've go to try."

Toark woke with a jolt from a sleep he'd never meant to have.

You cannot go and warn him," Saeunn said sternly. "It is too late. You would never find him." "I know," said Renn without turning her head. To herself she added, But I've still got to try.

Have you forgotten," she said in a furious whisper, "that he nearly killed us? That he threw my quiver in the stream, and threatened to snap my bow?" It was unclear which she considered worse: threatening them or her bow.

This was the wrong way because - because it wasn't the right way.

Run, Torak! The bear...is...possessed...

Choas errupted amoung the watchers. They didn't think it was over at all. "He cheated! He used fire!" "No, he won fairly enough!"

The Calormens have dark faces and long beards. They wear flowing robes and orange-colored turbans, and they are a wise, wealthy, courteous, cruel and ancient people. They bowed most politely to Caspian and paid him long compliments all about the fountains of prosperity irrigating the gardens of prudence and virtue --and things like that-- but of course what they wanted was the money they had paid.

Une ombre attaquera la forêt, et nul ne pourra s'y opposer. Alors viendra Celui-qui-Ecoute. Son arme, c'est l'air ; et son langage le silence.

Most of the time he was simply Wolf: clever, inquisitive, and fiercely loyal. Sometimes he was the guide, with mysterious certainty in his amber eyes. Always he was a pack-brother.

To track prey, you must first know it as you would a brother.

Wolf hated the female tailless. He'd hated her from the first moment he'd smelt her, as she pointed the long claw that flies at his pack brother. What a thing to do! As if Tall Tail-less was some kind of prey!...Didn't she know that he was the lead wolf? She was so sharp and disrespectful when she yipped at him in tail-less talk. Why didn't Tall Tail-less just snarl and chase her away?

Ah, but prophecies have a way of fulfilling themselves,' Khayman said. 'That's the magic of it. We all understood it in ancient times. The power of charms is the power of the will; you might say that we were all geniuses of psychology in those dark days, that we could be slain by the power of another's designs. And the dreams, Marius, the dreams are but a part of the great design.

He said wolves are special, because they make strong music.

It melted into the shadows. It had left no tracks; only a branch,

Torak and Wolf looked at her in surprise, and she found herself facing two pairs of wolf eyes: one amber, one light-grey.

But Paris, Paris was a universe whole and entire unto herself, hollowed and fashioned by history; so she seemed in this age of Napoleon III with her towering buildings, her massive cathedrals, her grand boulevards and ancient winding medieval streets—as vast and indestructible as nature itself. All was embraced by her, by her volatile and enchanted populace thronging the galleries, the theaters, the cafes, giving birth over and over to genius and sanctity, philosophy and war, frivolity and the finest art; so it seemed that if all the world outside her were to sink into darkness, what was fine, what was beautiful, what was essential might there still come to its finest flower. Even the majestic trees that graced and sheltered her streets were attuned to her—and the waters of the Seine, contained and beautiful as they wound through her heart; so that the earth on that spot, so shaped by blood and consciousness, had ceased to be the earth and had become Paris.

He traveled, he studied, he taught ... He learned to appreciate the singular little thrill of following dark byways in strange towns, knowing well that he would discover nothing, save filth and ennui and discarded merry cans with labels and the jungle jingles of exported jazz. He often felt that the famed cities, the museums, the ancient torture house and the suspended garden were but places on the map of his own madness.

There was a smell of Time in the air tonight. He smiled and turned the fancy in his mind. There was a thought. What did Time smell like? Like dust and clocks and people. And if you wondered what Time sounded like it sounded like water running in a dark cave and voices crying and dirt dropping down upon hollow box lids, and rain. And, going further, what did Time look like? Time looked like snow dropping silently into a black room or it looked like a silent film in an ancient theater, one hundred billion faces falling like those New Year balloons, down and down into nothing. That was how Time smelled and looked and sounded. And tonight—Tomás shoved a hand into the wind outside the truck—tonight you could almost touch Time.

Have you forgotten how to sing?" murmured the dark-eyed young man who leaned over the rails of the Ha'penny Bridge. His sloe-black eyes went darker still as he brooded on the ancient river. "When we called you Rurthach you purled like a young stream. What have they done to you?

Renn dacht aan Torak, die door het Woud was gestrompeld om de resten van haar boog te halen. Misschien laat zielzwerven inderdaad zijn sporen na, dacht ze, maar dit is gewoon Torak. 'Dank je wel,' zei ze. 'Kleine moeite.' 'Niet alleen bedankt voor de boog, maar voor veel meer. Ook voor dat je je eed hebt gebroken.' Toen legde ze haar hand op zijn schouder, zoende hem op zijn wang en hobbelde snel weg.

Torak,' zei Renn op strenge toon, 'je hebt al vaker je best gedaan om weg te gaan zonder mij. Dit is de laatste keer. Wil je dat ik met je kom of niet?' Torak wilde iets zeggen, maar er kwam geen woord over zijn lippen. Daarom knikte hij maar. 'Zeg het dan,' zei Renn. 'Ja... Ja, ik wil dat je met me mee komt.' Ze lachte breed. 'Ja!' riep hij uit. Hij nam haar in zijn armen en zwaaide met haar in de rondte, zodat haar rode haren fladderden... Toen pakten ze Renns spullen op en trokken verder, met de wolven achter hen aan en de raven hoog boven hen dansend in de lucht.

He had panicked. Tessier cursed his own stupidity. He should have remained in the column where he would have been protected. Instead, he saw an enemy coming for him like a revenant rising from a dark tomb, and had run first instead of thinking. Except this was no longer a French stronghold. The forts had all been captured and surrendered and the glorious revolutionary soldiers had been defeated. If the supply ships had made it through the blockade, Vaubois might still have been able to defend the city, but with no food, limited ammunition and disease rampant, defeat was inevitable. Tessier remembered the gut-wrenching escape from Fort Dominance where villagers spat at him and threw rocks. One man had brought out a pistol and the ball had slapped the air as it passed his face. Another man had chased him with an ancient boar spear and Tessier, exhausted from the fight, had jumped into the water. He had nearly drowned in that cold grey sea, only just managing to cling to a rock whilst the enemy searched the shoreline. The British warship was anchored outside the village, and although Tessier could see men on-board, no one had spotted him. Hours passed by. Then, when he considered it was clear, he swam ashore to hide in the malodorous marshland outside Mġarr. His body shivered violently and his skin was blue and wrinkled like withered fruit, but in the night-dark light he lived. He had crept to a fishing boat, donned a salt-stained boat cloak and rowed out to Malta's monochrome coastline. He had somehow managed to escape capture by abandoning the boat to swim into the harbour. From there it had been easy to climb the city walls and to safety. He had written his account of the marines ambush, the fort’s surrender and his opinion of Chasse, to Vaubois. Tessier wanted Gamble cashiered and Vaubois promised to take his complaint to the senior British officer when he was in a position to. Weeks went past. Months. A burning hunger for revenge changed to a desire for provisions. And until today, Tessier reflected that he would never see Gamble again. Sunlight twinkled on the water, dazzling like a million diamonds scattered across its surface. Tessier loaded his pistol in the shadows where the air was still and cool. He had two of them, a knife and a sword, and, although starving and crippled with stomach cramps, he would fight as he had always done so: with everything he had.

There was balance, harsh and violent like the noxious air in a swamp. But balance, nonetheless. Then somewhere in the fickle mists of creation came humanity, clawing and afraid, grasping and ambitious. Enveloped in a dangerous world, these creatures lived as scavengers; afraid of the greater things of the world. They were beset by disease, lack of claws or fangs, and the lack of habitat to call their own. Lefeyhdie had not provided any particular prey or plant for them to eat. These fleshy, naked beings were doomed to die of attrition. Curiously, these beings never stopped Doing, or Thinking. Breeding to strengthen their numbers. Sharpening rocks, shaping wood, gathering leaves and sticks for clothing and shelter. Eventually they had settlements of great number, crude but effective tools of war. Ancient forces began to pay attention to the growing incursion, plaguing them, slaying stragglers at night. But still the humans held on to the edge of the precipice, knuckles white with effort'.

Then he was striding toward me. His mesmerizing gaze pinned me in place as he cupped my face. When his lips covered mine, I gasped. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, groaning into the contact. His hands tightened on my face. His sexy groans made my toes curl, muddling my thoughts. Block that out! I was Aric’s wife. I’d wronged him in the past, had consigned him to misery for hundreds—no, thousands—of years. I needed to make this right. Like penance. There was something vaguely threatening about his words. Misgivings about this arose. Too fast. “If you have feelings for him, fight them,” Aric commanded me. “By going to him, you’d be stoking them once more. Don’t you understand? He can find another woman—I cannot. If you choose him, you’ll be consigning me to a hellish fate. As you’ve done again and again. No, this will be even worse, because I’ve had a greater glimpse of what I’ll be missing.” “I just want to talk to him. I’m leaving this weekend,” I said in an unwavering voice. “No, you will not.” His arrogant demeanor back in place, he said, “Understand me, I’m not surrendering the one woman who was born for me alone. Not to a human, not to anyone.” “You can’t keep me here against my will any longer. What are you going to do? Put that cuff back on me?” I held up my hand to stop him. “I understand why you did it. But I won’t be a prisoner anymore.” He snatched up his shirt, threading his arms into the sleeves. “You say you keep your promises now? You made a vow before gods to be my wife. In this life, you will keep your promises to me—before you ever honor one to him!” “You can’t stop me from leaving. I have my powers back. I earned my powers back.” With a cruel curve of his lips, he said, “You promised never to harm me, Empress. Know that you’ll have to kill me before I would ever let you go.” As he strode out the door, I said, “And know that you’ll have to put that cilice on me to keep me prisoner again.” He whirled around, fury in his expression. “You refused—twice—to beg me for your own life, but you’d beg for his?” I whispered, “Yes.” With a calculating gleam in his eyes, he said, “This isn’t an impossible task you ask of me. I could call in ancient favors, contact old allies. They could be here in mere hours. We’d ride out as one.” “T-truly?” “On one condition: you’ll become my wife in truth, mine in every way. Beginning tonight. Comply, and I’ll take on an army for you.” My lips parted with shock. “How can you do this to me?” “Deveaux is lost to you in one way or another. He’ll either be slaughtered by the Lovers—or saved by my female, by her sacrifice.” He offered his hand. “Come with me, and begin this.” “Don’t, Aric! Don’t destroy what I do feel for you.” “I’ll take”—he seized my hand, yanking me close—“what I can get.” Despite myself, I shivered from the contact, from his husky voice. His hold on me was firm, proprietary. Because he believed I was about to become his. The red witch in me whispered, Death thinks he has you at his mercy. But the Empress doesn’t get collared or caged—or controlled. Take his head and pay the Tower. Shut up! “Please, Aric. I’ll grow to hate you for this. I don’t want to feel that way about you. Never again. Don’t force me to do this.” “Force?” Unmoved, he led me toward his bedroom. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. Just as you can’t force me to save your lover’s life. We each make sacrifices to get what we want.” With my heart pounding, I crossed the threshold into his dark world. Black walls, black ceiling, black night beyond his windows. Yet outside I thought I saw . . . a single fluttering snowflake. Like a sign.

CONTENTS FIRE MAGE 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia

2Pet. 2:4-10 For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell (tartarus) and committed them to chains of gloomy darkness to be kept until the judgment; if he did not spare the ancient world, but preserved Noah, a herald of righteousness, with seven others, when he brought a flood upon the world of the ungodly; if by turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes he condemned them to extinction, making them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly;... then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials, and to keep the unrighteous under punishment until the day of judgment, and especially those who indulge in the lust of defiling passion and despise authority.

2Pet. 2:4-5 For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell [tartaroo] and committed them to chains of gloomy darkness to be kept until the judgment; if he did not spare the ancient world, but preserved Noah.

Cain’s tribe migrated south from Nod through the Zagros Mountains and eventually broke away from their embittered patriarch to settle in the plain of Shinar, later called Sumer. The Shinarians referred to themselves as unsangiga, the black-headed people for their predominantly black hair and dark-skinned features. Unuk ben Cain, Cain’s son, was the first city builder. He created the oldest city, Eridu, naming it after his own son Irad. He also built Erech, in honor of himself. This was the beginning of the ancient cities such as Nippur, Badtibira, Larak, Sippar, and others on the Mesopotamian plains in the land between the two rivers Tigris and Euphrates.

It was as tall as Saul on his horse. And it sensed their presence. It turned its head to see Ishbi and Saph through the darkness. Ishbi’s familiar spirits became frenetic with fear. Then a voice penetrated his mind that only he could hear. It was the voice of the evil spirit. “Stay away. This one is mine.” There were few things that frightened Rephaim gibborim, and this was one of them. This entity was more than an evil spirit. It was the most malevolent force that Ishbi had ever encountered, and he had encountered quite a bit of power in his days. It was kingly and it was ancient. It reminded him of Asherah and Dagon. It rivaled them in sheer malignance. Ishbi was not going to get in the way of this thing, whatever it was, because it was truly frightening.

Down they went, into the darkness. Down ancient, worn steps coated in slippery mildew. Down into the deep recesses of the earth, far beneath the corridors of Deep-Spire.

CONTENTS FIRE MAGE 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello

The satyrs held her hand and guided her. They could see even in near total darkness. After some walking, they stopped. Her heart raced. Her breathing turned shallow. She saw torchlight come out of nowhere and approach them. It was held by a hierodule, one of the holy women of the sanctuary. And then another torch held by another hierodule. Arisha began to get glimpses of beings around her. They were satyrs and hierodules. She could sense their presence more than see them. But what she could see before her in the firelight of the torches was a large golden statue twenty feet tall. It was the statue of a god. “Azazel, the ancient one, god of the desert lands and lord of satyrs,” said Izbaxl.

Writing in 1453 Portuguese royal chronicler Gomes Eanes de Zurara called upon the “Curse of Ham” story in Genesis to justify his countrymen’s enslavement of Africans, the race cursed “to be subject to all the other races of the world.” Slavery had been going on since the ancient civilizations, but Zurara’s explanation marked the first time that enslavement was seen as a matter of biological inheritance rather than a conditional state brought about by war or an economic transaction. The notion that servitude was passed down through blood became particularly expedient as the plantation societies in the New World required more and more labor. Not only could the workforce continually regenerate itself through reproduction, but a seemingly infinite supply of new slaves were available for purchase on the Dark Continent. While African states had long been selling war prisoners to their Muslim neighbors, the Europeans, armed with their quasi-religious, then quasi-scientific rationale, elevated the practice into an international institution.

slumbering

Wolf longed to be with them - but they were Not-Breath. He didn't understand how this could be. Darkfur and the cubs were…not. Wolf shut his eyes. He wanted to be not too.

Unending Love I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times… In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms, In life after life, in age after age, forever. Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain, Its ancient tale of being apart or together. As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge, Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time: You become an image of what is remembered forever. You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount. At the heart of time, love of one for another. We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell- Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever. Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you The love of all man’s days both past and forever: Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life. The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours – And the songs of every poet past and forever.

It is the time of dark and of cold,” she said, “when the fields are unyielding with frost and life sleeps in the earth. During this time, the world dreams, and in her dreams, she relieves the past. Images of the dead appear to those who are aware enough to perceive them.” “I know of this festival,” Shan said. “In our village, we would put out saucers of blood and milk for the spirits. Girls would wear red ribbons in their hair and the lads red garters on their knees. On the night of the Grave, we’d build a bonfire on the green, and dance in a circle to keep the spirits at bay.” “These are old customs,” said Sinaclara, “memories of old practices. In ancient times, the Night of the Grave was called Aya’even, which in the old tongue meant the forest of the dead. It is but one point on the great wheel of life, death, and rebirth. Because of its associations with darkness and the dead, it has within it inherent hope, for without death, there can not be life. This is why it is celebrated by those who no longer remember its true meaning. The memory of that hope lives on.

Akahana was dizzying, mainly because it seemed to be several different places at once. On the surface, it was all hustle and heat, yet Shan was immediately aware of a dark and inscrutable undercurrent-magic hanging in the air, as Sinaclara had foretold. It also seemed as if if the ancient past was very close to the present and that it would be possible, either accidentally or otherwise to slip between the two.

THERE CAME A time when there was great movement upon the Earth and above it, when the destiny of Men and Gods was hammered out upon the forge of Fate, when monstrous wars were brewed and mighty deeds were designed. And there rose up in this time, which was called the Age of the Young Kingdoms, heroes. Greatest of these heroes was a doom-driven adventurer who bore a crooning runeblade that he loathed. His name was Elric of Melniboné, king of ruins, lord of a scattered race that had once ruled the ancient world. Elric, sorcerer and swordsman, slayer of kin, despoiler of his homeland, white-faced albino, last of his line. Elric, who had come to Karlaak by the Weeping Waste and had married a wife in whom he found some peace, some surcease from the torment in him. And Elric, who had within him a greater destiny than he knew, now dwelt in Karlaak with Zarozinia, his wife, and his sleep was troubled, his dream dark, one brooding night in the Month of Anemone…

Chronicled in our ancient text, The Old Book of Alders, Providence Cards were not only Blunder’s greatest treasures but also the only legal way of performing magic. Anyone could use them—all it took was touch and intention. Clear your mind, hold a Card in your hand, tap it three times, and the Card was yours to wield. Pocket the Card or place it elsewhere, the magic would still hold. Three more taps, or the touch of another person, and the flow of magic would halt.

She glanced at Naiginn's profile. Torak was right, he did smile too much. Torak only smiled when he had a reason, and then it was worth waiting for.

Beyond the Far North,' he said, 'is the Edge of the World.

What do you call a tokoroth when it grows up?' She swallowed. 'That's never happened.' 'But what if it did?

Without Renn - without his fierce, brave, secretive, complicated Renn - he would never be more than half-alive. In the shelter Marupai's snores stuttered to a halt, then resumed. Marupai was what Torak would become if he lost Renn.

Promise never to leave!' In the gloom her white teeth flashed. 'I promise never to leave.

Until this night, this awful night, he’d had a little joke about himself. He didn’t know who he was, or where he’d come from, but he knew what he liked. And what he liked was all around him-the flower stands on the corners, the big steel and glass buildings filled with milky evening light, the trees, of course, the grass beneath his feet. And the telephones-it didn’t matter. He liked to figure them out, master them, then crush them into tiny hard multicolored balls which he could then juggle or toss through plate glass windows when nobody was about. He liked piano music, the motion pictures, and the poems he found in books. He also liked the automobiles that burnt oil from the earth like lamps. And the great jet planes that flew on the same scientific principles, above the clouds. He always stopped and listened to the people laughing and talking up there when one of the people laughing and talking up there when one of the planes flew overhead. Driving was an extraordinary pleasure. In a silver Mercedes-Benz, he had sped on smooth empty roads from Rome to Florence to Venice in one night. He also liked television-the entire electric process of it, with tiny bits of lights. How soothing it was to have the company of the television, the intimacy with so many artfully painted faces speaking to you in friendship from the glowing screen. The rock and roll, he liked that too. He liked the music. He liked the Vampire Lestat singing “Requiem for the Marquise”. He didn’t pay attention to the words much. It was the melancholy and the dark undertone of drums and cymbals. Made him want to dance. He liked the giant yellow machines that dug into the earth late at night in the big cities with men in uniforms, crawling all over them; he liked the double-decker buses of London, and the people-the clever mortals everywhere-he liked, too, of course. He liked walking in Damascus during the evening, and seeing in sudden flashes of disconnected memory the city of the ancients. Romans, Greeks, Persians, Egyptians in these streets. He liked the libraries where he could find photographs of ancient monuments in big smooth good-smelling books. He took his own photographs of the new cities around him and sometimes he could put images on those pictures which came from his thoughts. For example, in his photograph of Rome there were Roman people in tunics and sandals superimposed upon the modern versions in their thick ungraceful clothes. Oh, yes, much to like around him always-the violin music of Bartók, little girls in snow white dresses coming out of the church at midnight having sung at the Christmas mass. He liked the blood of his victims too, of course. That went without saying. It was no part of his little joke. Death was not funny to him. He stalked his prey in silence; he didn’t want to know his victims. All a mortal had to do was speak to him and he was turned away. Not proper, as he saw it, to talk to these sweet, soft-eyed things and then gobble their blood, break their bones and lick the marrow, squeeze their limbs to dripping pulp. And that was the way he feasted now, so violently. He felt no great need for blood anymore; but he wanted it. And the desire overpowered him in all its ravening purity, quite apart from the thirst. He could have feasted upon three or four mortals a night.

Lost.

Demons. Eagerly,

burnt

Juksakai

Boor Clan

Hoe wist je dat ze eraan kwamen?' 'Dat wist ik niet, Wolf vertelde het me.' Ze keek verbaasd, en toen bang. 'Je kunt echt met hem praten, hé?

Tot zijn verbazing schoot Renn een pijl af, en even later plofte een sneeuwhoen op het mos neer. Toraks mond viel open. 'Hoe deed je dat?' Renn bloosde. 'Nou ja, ik oefen veel.' 'Maar... Ik heb nog nooit iemand zo goed zien schieten. Ben je de beste schutter van je stam?' Ze keek niet erg op haar gemak. 'Is er iemand die beter is?' 'Eh, niet echt.

Heeft je vader het ooit over de Zieleneters gehad?' Torak fronste. 'Nee. Daar heb ik nog nooit van gehoord.' 'Dan moet je de enige in het hele Woud zijn.' … 'Waarom heetten ze Zieleneters?' vroeg hij, bijna zonder zijn lippen te bewegen. 'Aten ze echt zielen?' 'Wie weet? De mensen werden bang, en wanneer mensen bang zijn, worden geruchten tot waarheid.

Het komt eraan... Zie je het niet?... Het komt eraan! En het zal ons allemaal krijgen!

Drie pijlen om een volwassenen everzwijn mee neer te schieten. Dat was bijna hetzelfde als een eland met een bosje bloemen doodmeppen.

Het voelde of ik werd losgetrokken, had Torak gezegd. Het voelde alsof ik de vis was.

Vind je het erg?' 'Hoe bedoel je?' 'Over... wat ik ben.' Tot zijn verbazing grinnikte ze. 'Torak, je bent een wie, niet een wat! Je bent nog steeds een iemand.

U weet helemaal niets van Renn. Afgelopen zomer kreeg ze visioenen die ons waarschuwden voor de overstroming. Ze heeft hele stammen gered... Weet u waar de Eikenmagiër is?' … 'Als er zich een Zieleneter in het Dichte Woud bevond, zou de Hertenstam dat weten.' 'Vorige keer wisten jullie dat ook niet.' - Renn

Maar wie zijn wij om vragen te stellen over de wijze waarop de Hertenstam met de dingen omgaat?' zei ze net zo uit de hoogte als Durrain. Hij grijnsde breed. 'Ja, dat zou een dom lid van de Ravenstam zoals jij niet moeten doen.' Ze gaf hem een por in zijn ribben.

Jullie zijn broeders uit het roedel. Een wolf laat zijn broeder uit het roedel niet in de steek. - Donkervacht, tegen Wolf

Eigenlijk had hij het al veel Lichten en Donkers geweten, maar hij had het niet willen toegeven. Zonder Staart was niet-wolf.

Ben je gewond? Heeft hij je pijn gedaan?' Ze schudde haar hoofd, maar ze zag spierwit, en in haar ogen stond een duistere blik, die daar door Thiazzi's toedoen was ontstaan. Ze deed haar mond open om iets te zeggen, vertrok toen haar gezicht en wendde zich af. Zo zag ze er heel kwetsbaar uit, en hij sloeg zijn armen om haar heen en trok haar tegen zich aan.

Dit is ook de eerste keer dat de welpjes uit het Hol mogen. Dat is een heel belangrijke dag, want op die dag maken ze kennis met de rest van het roedel.' Hij maakte een wijds gebaar dat Wolf, zijn gezellin, de welpjes, Renn en hemzelf omvatte. 'En de rest van het roedel', zei hij, 'dat zijn wij.

Narrander is gestorven... Hij is omgekomen tijdens de grote brand.' 'Een ander is gestorven!' bulderde de Loper.

Het is niet eerlijk, dacht Renn. Waarom is híj nou de Luisteraar? Waarom moet híj zo anders zijn?

Torak, kijk achter je! - Renn

Copyright 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello Sun Mage 1. Enslaved 2. Seraka

Copyright 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello Sun Mage 1. Enslaved 2. Seraka 3. The Hidden Arena 4. Evening Prayers 5. Breaking Away 6. The Descent of Shadows

CONTENTS Copyright 1. The Hunt 2. A Feather for a Friend 3. A Demon's Eyes 4. The Order of the Dawn 5. The Blood Dagger 6. The Ancient Struggle 7. Jiserian Invasion 8. The Surineda Map 9. The Sej Elders 10. The Fire Sword 11. The Nalgoran Desert 12. The Northlands 13. Assault in the Forest 14. The Inn at Blansko 15. The Edge of the Storm 16. Ashtera Summons the Darkness 17. Aurellia 18. Intrigue in Khael 19. Passage to Lorello Sun Mage 1. Enslaved 2. Seraka 3. The Hidden Arena 4. Evening Prayers 5. Breaking Away 6. The Descent of Shadows

Ik moet zeggen dat het me verbaast dat hem dat nooit hebt verteld. Als hij je vriend is... Als je net zo veel om hem geeft als hij om jou, en dat is veel, heel veel... Maar je hebt het hem niet verteld, en dat was een grote vergissing... Vertel het hem, Renn. Vertel het hem... Ze is mijn dochter! - Seshru

Echt, ik wilde het je vertellen, heus waar. Het spijt me verschrikkelijk dat ik dat niet eerder heb gedaan.' 'Weet ik,' zei hij. 'Ik heb ook heel veel spijt van de dingen die ik heb gezegd. Ik meende het niet. Dat weet je toch wel, hè?' Renn vertrok haar gezicht. Toen legde ze haar ellebogen op haar knieën en verborg haar gezicht in haar handen. Ze maakte geen enkel geluid, maar Torak zag haar schouders schokken. Een beetje onhandig sloeg hij zijn arm om haar heen. Eerst verstarde ze, toen ontspande ze en leunde tegen hem aan.

Zwart ijs... Witte beren, rood bloed. Ze zoeken het oog van de adder... In het oog gaan is in het donker gaan. Misschien kun je de weg naar buiten vinden, Wolfjongen. Maar wanneer je eenmaal binnen bent, zul je nooit meer heel zijn. Een deel van je blijft daar beneden. In het donker. - De Loper

Voor jou is het anders... Nee, dat is het niet, wilde ze wel uitschreeuwen. Snap je dan niet dat jij en Wolf de eerste vrienden zijn die ik ooit heb gehad? - Renn

Je hebt al zoveel gedaan. - Torak, tegen Renn

Toen klaarde haar gezicht op. 'Betekent dat dat je blijft?' 'Dat weet ik nog niet.' 'Je moet blijven.' 'Ik hoor hier niet.' Ze snoof. 'Dat weet ik ook wel. Maar er is geen enkele andere plek waar je wel hoort, toch?' Daarna lachte ze hem met haar scherpe tandjes toe, sloeg haar boog om haar schouder en liep tussen de bomen door weg.

Hij is mijn vriend. Ik móét het proberen. - Renn

En de uitgestotene? Spannen ze met hem samen?' 'Nee,' mompelde het meisje. 'Maar ze zijn wel met hem verbonden. Hij door het bot, zij door het hart.

Renn is helemaal alleen en dat... dat wezen kan wel overal zijn.' 'Dat kan me niet schelen.' 'Jawel, dat kan je wel schelen. Als Renn iets zou overkomen, zou je het jezelf nooit vergeven.

Je bent nog steeds mijn vriend!' riep ze uit. 'Ik ben nog steeds dezelfde Renn!