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. The quiet was oppressive,
perhaps because it was not true quiet. A thin
undercurrent of sound disturbed the surface. She could
tell herself it was the wind, sighing through the broken
branches of dead trees, but its sorrow pierced her heart.
Michael shook his head. "No, if they survived, which
I doubt, they must have fled into the plains. My
mother's people came from there. She would have gone
back to find them."
Nikol paused, uncertain of her way. "You know, I
could almost think that Xak Tsaroth IS haunted, that its
dead do lament"
Michael shook his head. "If any of the dead walk
these broken streets, it is those who are unable or
unwilling to pass beyond, to find the mercy of the gods."
WHAT MERCY? Nikol almost asked bitterly, but she
bit her tongue, kept silent. Their relationship over these
past hard months had deepened. Love was no longer the
splendid, perfect bridal garment. The fabric was worn,
now, but it fit better, was far more comfortable. Neither
could imagine a night spent outside the refuge of the
other's arms. But there were several rents and tears in
the shining fabric.
The terrible things they'd seen had left their mark
upon them both. When these cuts were mended, they
would serve to make the marriage stronger, but now the
arguments were growing bitter, had inflicted wounds
that were still tender and sore to the touch.
"It's midafternoon," she said abruptly. "We don't
have much time if we're going to make use of the daylight
to aid our search
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