The Gates of Winter (61 page)

Sareth blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He was inside a hut, lying on a rug, propped up against filthy cushions. A man knelt beside him, holding the cup. He was swathed from head to foot in black; only his dark eyes were visible.

Fear sliced away the dullness in Sareth's mind. Was this one of the Scirathi? They always wore black like this. He remembered how he had been tortured by the sorcerer who had followed them through the gate to Castle City. That one had enjoyed causing Sareth pain.

No, they always wear masks of gold. The masks are the key to their power. This is no Scirathi.

Fresh dread replaced the old. What manner of creature was this? Sareth pushed himself up against the cushions, knowing he was too weak to flee.

“What have you done with Fahir?” he said.

“Your friend is being cared for in another hut,” the dervish said. “You need not fear for him.”

Sareth licked his cracked lips. He had planned to come upon the dervish unaware, so that the other could not cast a spell. But now he was in the dervish's power. He tried to think what to say.

The dervish spoke first. “You're her brother, aren't you? Vani, the assassin. We knew she was in communication with her brother through the gate artifact, and the resemblance is clear enough.”

Confusion replaced fear. How could the dervish know these things? And why did his accent, strange as it was, seem familiar?

“Who are you?” Sareth demanded.

The dervish laughed. “That's a good question. Who am I indeed? Not who I was before, that much is certain.” The dervish pushed back his hood. His pale skin had been burnt and blistered, though now it was beginning to heal. “I used to be a man called Hadrian Farr.”

Sareth clutched at the cushions. “I know who you are! Vani told me of you. You're from the world across the Void. How can you be here?”

The other made a dismissive gesture. “That's not important now. All that matters is that you take word back to your people.”

“Take word of what? And why don't you tell them yourself?”

The dervish moved to a window; a thin beam of sunlight slipped through a crack in the shutters, illuminating his sun-ravaged face. “Because once I am done here, I must go back. Back into the Morgolthi. After all these ages, it has finally been found.”

“What are you talking about?” Sareth said, rising up—angry at not understanding, angry at his fear. “What has been found?”

The dervish—the Earth man named Hadrian Farr—turned and gazed at him with haunted eyes.

“The lost city of Morindu the Dark,” he said.

Outside the hut, the wind rose like a jackal's howl.

THE GATES OF WINTER
A Bantam Spectra Book / August 2003

Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York

All rights reserved
Copyright © 2003 by Mark Anthony
Map by Karen Wallace

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Bantam Books, New York, New York.

Visit our website at
www.bantamdell.com

Bantam Books, the rooster colophon, Spectra, and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Published simultaneously in Canada

eISBN: 978-0-553-89773-9

v3.0