Kurgan smelled the curious Sarakkonian spices that arose from their oils and unguents, their leathers andcloths, the deep orange wax with which they formed the molds of their indecipherable runes. In this waythey were making good time, despite the cold that crept into the winter mornings, the intense chill thatgripped them after the sun went down. Illusion? The thing shook Kurgan like a rag doll. 'ornn would ever recognize—and emitted a bellow of rage that washeard all the way to the sorcerous Portal of the Abyss.
Possibly he hated her for that. And all this time Childermass said nothing. The disturbance, little dumpling, Thigpen said, unable to bear Riane's silent grief any longer. It was black as death inside, and asharp pungent aroma of burned pitch arose and something else, less well denned, like the slightly sweetair around a grave.
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