To Green Angel Tower, Volume 1

To Green Angel Tower, Volume 1 by Tad Williams Page B

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Authors: Tad Williams
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seemed to think that the point was somehow very clear. Simon frowned, thinking.
    “Are you saying that we should be like King John? That we should try to catch Elias by surprise?” It was an astonishing idea. “That we should . . . attack him?”
    Binabik nodded, his teeth bared in a yellow smile. “Clever Simon! Why not? We have only been reacting, not acting. Perhaps a change will be helpful.”
    “But what about the Storm King?” Shaken by the thought, he looked out at the beclouded horizon. Simon did not even like to say that name beneath the wide slate sky in this alien place. “And besides, Binabik, we are only a few hundred. King Elias has thousands of soldiers. Everybody knows it!”
    The troll shrugged. “Who says we must be fighting army to army? In any case, our little company is growing every day, as more folk come across the meadows to ... what was Josua’s naming? Ah. New Gadrinsett.”
    Simon shook his head and flung another shard of wind-smoothed stone. “It seems stupid to me—no, not stupid. But too dangerous.”
    Binabik was not upset. He whistled for Qantaqa, who came trotting back across the stone flags. “Perhaps it is being just that, Simon. Let us walk for a little while.”

    Prince Josua stared down at the sword, his face troubled. The good cheer he had shown at Simon’s feast seemed entirely gone.
    It was not that the prince was truly any happier of late, Sir Deornoth decided, but he had learned that his self-doubts made those around him uneasy. In times like these, people preferred a fearless prince to an honest one, so Josua labored to present a mask of calm optimism to his subjects. But Deornoth, who knew him well, had little doubt that Josua’s responsibilities still weighed on him as heavily as they ever had.
    He is like my mother, Deornoth realized. A strange thing to think of a prince. But like her, he feels he must take the worries and fears of all onto himself, that no one else can bear the burden.
    And, as Deornoth had seen his mother do, Josua also seemed to be aging faster than those around him. Always slender, the prince had become very thin during the company’s flight from Naglimund. He had regained a little of his girth, but there was a strange aura of fragility about him now that would not go away: Deornoth thought him a little unworldly, like a man just risen from a long illness. The gray streaks in his hair had increased drastically and his eyes, although still as sharp and knowing as ever, held a slightly feverish gleam.
    He needs peace. He needs rest. I wish I could stand at the foot of his bed and protect him while he slept for a year. “God give him strength,” he murmured.
    Josua turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, my mind was wandering. What did you say?”
    Deornoth shook his head, not wishing to lie, but not caring to share his thoughts either. They both turned their attention back to the sword.
    Prince and liege-man stood before the long stone table in the building Geloë had named Leavetaking House. All traces of the previous night’s feast had been cleared away, and now only one gleaming black object lay upon the smooth stone.
    “To think that so many have died at the end of that blade,” Deornoth said at last. He touched the cord-wrapped hilt; Thorn was as cold and lifeless as the rock on which it rested.
    “And more recently,” the prince murmured, “think of how many have died that we might have it.”
    “But surely, if it cost us so dearly, we should not just leave it lying here in an open hall where anyone may come.” Deornoth shook his head. “This might be our greatest hope, Highness—our only hope! Should we not hide it away safe, or put it under guard?”
    Josua almost smiled. “To what purpose, Deornoth? Any treasure can be stolen, any castle thrown down, any hiding place nosed out. Better it should lie where all can see and feel what hope is in it.” He narrowed his eyes as he stared down at the blade. “Not that I feel much

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