Робин Хобб

Forest Mage


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      Forest Mage

      ROBIN HOBB

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       Dedication

      To Alexsandrea and Jadyn, my companions through a tough year. I promise never to cut and run.

      Contents

       Title Page

       Map

       Chapter Nine: Plague

       Chapter Ten: Flight

       Chapter Eleven: Franner’s Bend

       Chapter Twelve: The King’s Road

       Chapter Thirteen: Buel Hitch

       Chapter Fourteen: Journey To Gettys

       Chapter Fifteen: Gettys

       Chapter Sixteen: The Cemetery

       Chapter Seventeen: Routine Duty

       Chapter Eighteen: Visitor

       Chapter Nineteen: Winter

       Chapter Twenty: Spring

       Chapter Twenty-One: Olikea

       Chapter Twenty-Two: Fence Posts

       Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Women

       Chapter Twenty-Four: An Envelope

       Chapter Twenty-Five: The Road

       Chapter Twenty-Six: Dancers

       Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Ambush

       Chapter Twenty-Eight: Coffins

       Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Messenger

       Chapter Thirty: The Apology

       Chapter Thirty-One: Accusations

       Chapter Thirty-Two: Lisana

       Chapter Thirty-Three: Court Martial

       Chapter Thirty-Four: Surrender

       Acknowledgment

       About the Author

       Also By Robin Hobb

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       Map

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       ONE

       Forest Dreams

      There is a fragrance in the forest. It does not come from a single flower or leaf. It is not the rich aroma of dark crumbly earth or the sweetness of fruit that has passed from merely ripe to mellow and rich. The scent I recalled was a combination of all these things, and of sunlight touching and awakening their essences and of a very slight wind that blended them perfectly. She smelled like that.

      We lay together in a bower. Above us, the distant top of the canopy swayed gently, and the beaming rays of sunlight danced over our bodies in time with them. Vines and creepers that draped from the stretching branches above our heads formed the sheltering walls of our forest pavilion. Deep moss cushioned my bare back, and her soft arm was my pillow. The vines curtained our trysting place with their foliage and large, pale-green flowers. The stamen pushed past the fleshy lips of the blossoms and were heavy with yellow pollen. Large butterflies with wings of deep orange traced with black were investigating the flowers. One insect left a drooping blossom, alighted on my lover’s shoulder and walked over her soft dappled flesh. I watched it unfurl a coiled black tongue to taste the perspiration that dewed the forest woman’s skin, and envied it.

      I lay in indescribable comfort, content beyond passion. I lifted a lazy hand to impede the butterfly’s progress. Fearlessly, it stepped onto my fingers. I raised it to be an ornament in