Free The Book of Taltos by Steven Brust Page A

this point was a stack of thick, heavy tomes. There was another tome on the table, open, with a quill pen next to it and half a page written in. Small, glittering stones were scattered on the table. Three wands—none of which matched the description of what I was looking for—stood against the wall to my left, and a pedestal at the end of the table held what seemed to be a chain made of gold, suspended in air except for the end that touched the pedestal. A broadsword leaned against the table, and it would have looked incongruous save that from where I stood I could see that it was covered with runes and symbols. Against another wall was a large basin, probably holding something unnatural to which unmentionable things had been done.
    In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this was Loraan’s work area.
    I studied the floor in front of me for a long time, checking the path to the door opposite. It seemed to be clear. I let my observations flow back to Sethra. She acknowledged but didn’t comment. I crossed very carefully and reached the other door without making a sound.
    I studied this door for quite a while. No spells, no bolts, no alarms. I oiled the hinges just to be safe, then opened it. I was in a slightly smaller room, not as cluttered. The only thing of note was what seemed to be a cube made of orange light, about six feet on a side, in the middle of the room. In the center of the glowing cube was a white, five-foot-long staff. At one end I could almost make out the rusty star I’d been told to look for.
    That was not, however, the only thing in the room.
    Next to the cube of light, facing it, was a Dragaeran. He stared at me and I stared at him. He is frozen that way in my mind—all of seven and a half feet tall, big, thick eyebrows on a florid face, with long, tangled reddish hair that stuck out at improbable angles. He was old, I guess, but he certainly wasn’t infirm. He stood straight, and his stance reminded me of Morrolan just before he had almost attacked me. I saw the lines of muscles beneath his tight, white blouse, and the blood-red cloak he wore was drawn back, held by a ruby clasp that reminded me of Sethra’s. His brown eyes were clear and unblinking, yet his expression seemed mildly curious, neither frightened nor angry.
    Only his hands seemed old—long fingers that were twisted and bent, with what might have been tiny scars all over the backs of his fingers. I have no idea what could have caused that. In his hands was a dark, thin tube, about four feet long, that was pointed at the staff inside the orange cube.
    The bastard was working late tonight.
    I would almost certainly have beaten him to the draw, as it were, if he hadn’t noticed me coming in. He gestured vaguely in my direction and I discovered I couldn’t move. A black fog swam before my eyes. I said,
“Sorry, Sethra, not this time.”
And nothing held me as I sagged against nothing, fell in, and was buried.

6
     
    I stared at the flickering, weaving dance of the horizon and tried to decide if I liked it, or if it mattered. The thought that I was losing my mind came, and I pushed it aside. It is a not uncommon fear in such circumstances, largely because it sometimes happens. But I just didn’t have time to deal with it then.
    My eyes were drawn from the wavering landscape to the sorcery rune I had, for whatever reason, drawn on the ground before me. I blinked and it didn’t go away. I licked my lips.
    The rune was glowing. I hadn’t asked it to, but I guess I hadn’t asked it not to, either.
    I brought my palms together in front of me, fingers pointing out, and in the air I drew another rune, this one the verb “to summon.” I considered what nouns I might hang from it, shuddered, and almost lost control of the spell. Loiosh pulled me back and I dropped my hands back to my lap.
    The rhythm was still with me and the landscape still wavered and the rune on the ground still glowed.
    I think the other sound was my teeth