The Orb and the Spectre [antikvár]

ONE I The child had been playing contentedly by the water's edge for some time, oblivious of the eyes that watched from the concealment of the surrounding forest. The day was warm, barely a breath of breeze stirring the early autumn air, and the child's warden, a bow-kneed man no longer in his prime, had seated himself upon the soft grass, his back propping the trunk of a huge ancient oak. His eyelids had grown heavy and his thoughts had begun to drift. He dozed now, his head tipped back, mouth agape, snoring as he wandered in his dreams. 'This is the one?' demanded the woman, Arene, in a curt whisper. She was old: her body was heavy and bent even when she was not crouched and hiding, but she was not without a kind of strength, and her eyes as they watched the infant beside the water were bright with a strange fever. Her companion nodded a touch impatiently, for he had already answered the same question. 'Aye.' 'You are sure, Hal? There can be no doubt?' He turned his eyes upwards. 'I have told you, Mistress, there is no other child of this age hereabouts, not with the background you have described.' Her lips formed a tight, drooping smile. 'This is the one I have come for. Arid the moment offers itself. Look,' she nodded towards the sleeping man. 'Irresponsible to neglect his charge so. A child so young and trusting, unaware of the world's myriad dangers. So easy to slip there upon the bank, and the water, even at the edge, is deep for one so small. A child of such tender age a terrible accident which might so easily have been avoided.'