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. "
Luke turned his hands palms upward. "Beats me," he said.
"Well, no matter," Julian replied, setting down his cup and turning
toward the front of the tent again. "I believe your food is about to
arrive."
He moved off in that direction. I could hear the tiny crystals of ice
rattling against the canvas overhead, and a few growls from outside:
concerto for wind and hellhound. No banshees, though. Not yet.
CHAPTER 9
I walked a pace or so behind Luke, a couple of yards off to his left,
trying to keep even with Julian, who was over to the right. The torch I bore
was a big thing, about six tapering feet of pitchy wood, sharpened at its
terminus to make it easy to drive into the ground. I held it at arm's
distance, because the oily flames licked and lashed in all directions in
accord with vagaries of the wind. Sharp, icy flakes fell upon my cheek, my
forehead, my hands, with a few catching in my eyebrows and lashes. I blinked
vigorously as the heat of the torch melted them and they ran into my eyes.
The grasses beneath my feet were sufficiently cold to give a brittle,
crunching sensation every time I took a step. Directly ahead I could see the
slow advance of two other torches toward us, and the shadowy figure of a man
who walked between them. I blinked and waited for the flow from one or the
other of his torches to give me a better look
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