James M. Ward The Pool 3 Pool of Twilight

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years of trekking in the outdoors had tanned his face like leather. But he was
still obviously a hale man.
"I had a little help from the bow," Daile said, smoothing her thumb along the
well-polished arc of wood.
Ren had made the bow for her over the summer. It was a long, diligent process.
First he had searched the forest for the right sapling, one in which he could
see the nat-ural shape of a bow. Then he had stripped its bark, split it, and
soaked the wood in water before shaping it into a long graceful arc and curing
it over a slow fire. Ren had carved many bows in his life, but this time he
added one different step.
For several nights he sat up late, smoothing the pale wood of the bow with two
small dark stones. They were ioun stones, and magical in nature. Usually he
kept them in the hilts of the daggers he wore in his boots. As he pol-ished
with the ioun stones, the bow took on a deep, vibrant luster. Finally, he
could feel the weapon humming in his hands, and he knew it was ready.
He gave the bow to Daile for her birthday. Instantly she had realized there
was something unique about the weapon. Once she began using it, she found she
could aim more accurately and shoot farther than she had ever dreamed
possible.
"A bow is only as good as the archer using it," Ren noted with a wolfish
smile. "I imagine the next orcs who wander into the valley are going to be
surprised when they find arrows sticking out of their throats with no archers
in sight." He laughed loudly at that, slapping his leather leggings.
"That is, if you leave any orcs for me, Father," Daile replied. She knew her
father all too well. Orcs that wan-dered within a dozen leagues of him seemed
to have a dif-ficult time keeping their heads attached to their bodies.
"Humor an old man, Daile. Killing orcs is my only real fun these days."
She sighed dramatically, as if making a terribly great sacrifice. "Oh, very
well, Father. You can behead the orcs, if you absolutely must." She smiled
mischievously. "But the kobolds are mine."
The man snorted. "Selfish child." He laughed deeply. "You're my daughter, all
right."
"Whether you like it or not," Daile answered. She gath-ered their possessions
into a leather pack, then slung the pack over a shoulder. She and Ren often
went out on all-day sojourns through the woodland and heath of the Val-ley of
the Falls. It gave her a chance to practice her forest skills. And though her
father never said so, she knew these wanderings also gave him the opportunity
to tramp and explore the land he loved.
"Let's head home," she said, plunging into a grove of ghost-pale aspens. "I'll
make supper."
"What are you cooking tonight?" Ren asked.
"Orc stew."
He made a gagging sound. "You're joking."
Daile didn't answer.
"Please say you're joking, Daile." His voice was a trifle desperate this time.
Daile only a hummed a cheerful ditty, deftly picking her way along a faint
forest trail that would have been invisi-ble to an untrained eye. All Ren
could do was shake his head and follow, grumbling under his breath something
about where he must have gone wrong rearing his trou-blesome daughter.
Leading the way up the forested slope, Daile emerged from the autumn-colored
forest, finding herself on the high, rocky crest of granite that Ren
affectionately dubbed Dead Orc Ridge. The ridge bounded the west side of the
Valley of the Falls, the valley that had been Daile's home for all eighteen
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years of her life.
She paused, surveying the patchwork of forest and glade below. The valley was
a deep, steep-sided bowl, carved long ago out of the rock by a glacier.
Running through the valley's center was the nar-row gorge where Daile liked to
practice her archery skills. The stream had its source in a waterfall that
tumbled down a sheer, thousand-foot cliff at the valley's north end.
Daile cocked her head. Even now she could hear the ceaseless roar of the
waterfall, though soon its voice would be silenced by the freezing breath of
winter. Not that Daile minded. Winter might give her and her father the chance
to do some ice-climbing, making their way up the frozen falls with naught but
two ice picks, some iron pitons, and a rope. If she could coax her father
along on such an adventure, that is.
"I was beginning to think I'd lost you," she said cheer-ily, as Ren finally
appeared out of the woods, scrambling up the scree to the ridgetop, his chest
heaving. He was sweating despite the cold air sharp with the scent of snow.
"You know, you're really not as amusing as you think you are, Daile," Ren
observed acidly. He sank to a boulder and accepted the leather waterskin his
daughter handed him. "Just wait until old age creeps up on you. I imagine you
won't find life quite so funny."
Daile frowned, chewing her lip. These last two years she had noticed a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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