The Soul Weaver

Начало книги

My senses were deafened by Jayereth’s pain. Desperately I fought to maintain my control, to prevent her agony from confusing my purpose. We were bound by an enchantment of healing, our mingled blood linking our minds in the realm of flesh and spirit. If I shut out the experience of her senses, then I was powerless to heal her, but if I could not quiet her enough to see what I was doing, she was lost just as surely. Dark waves already lapped on the shores of her life.

Jayereth, hear me… Hold fast… for your daughter, newly born to grace your house… for T’Vero who cherishes you… for your Prince who is in such need of your service… With everything I knew of Jayereth I commanded her to hold quiet - just for the moment it would take me to see what I needed to see.

She understood me, I think, for there came the briefest ebb in the death tide, an instant’s clearing in the red mist of her pain and madness that let me perceive a host of things too terrible to know: ribs smashed, lungs torn, blood… everywhere hot, pooling blood and fragments of bone, her belly in shreds… Earth and sky, how had they done this? It was as if they knew every possible remedy a Healer could provide and had arranged it so I could do nothing but make things worse.

Читать дальше →