The Wildside Book of Fantasy: 20 Great Tales of Fantasy
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The Wildside book of Fantasy presents 20 great fantasy tales by modern masters. Included are stories by Tanith Lee, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, Gene Wolfe, Fritz Leiber, Lawrence Watt-Evans, Robert E. Howard, and many more. A choice selection of tales!
were seemingly dark, and an air of age-old desolation pervaded the monastery, together with a smell as of moldering bones piled in some secret catacomb. Midway in the hall, Ujuk paused and held aside the arras of a doorway that differed in no wise from the rest. Within, a lamp burned, depending from an archaic chain of curiously linked and fretted metal. The room was bare but spacious, and a bed of ebony with opulent quiltings of an olden fashion stood by the farther wall under an open window.
wished upon her more distant acquaintances. Even Ophiria’s closest acquaintances—none of whom was sufficiently close as to think of her as a friend—would have been surprised to discover the extent of her disaffection from her husband. Remy Brousse was not cruel or quarrelsome, nor was he given to adulterous liaisons. By the standards of the region at the head of the Dordogne valley, that was sufficient to make him an unusually good and devoted husband. His only marital crime, if crime it could
island erupt from the sea, with thunder and foam and lashing waves? So love erupts in the heart. Does the sea protest? Does it say to the island, ‘Return to the ocean floor’?” “Indeed,” I said, springing to my feet, “you have thrust an island into my heart. I reel with the beauty and suddenness of it. But I have other islands, and I will not let you sink them.” She stood and faced me. “You have made your choice?” “I chose or was chosen—I am not sure which—before I found you.” In a sudden
teleported himself three yards to the rear, making use of that faculty for cutting corners in space-time, traveling by space-warp in fact, which was one of his powers that Kitty-Come-Here refused to believe in and that even Old Horsemeat accepted only on faith. Then, not losing a moment, he picked himself up by his furry seat, swung himself around, dashed downstairs at top speed, sprang to the top of the sofa, and stared for several seconds at the Gummitch Double in the wall-mirror—not relaxing
saw no way of escape, and Conan seemed to be concerned only with her supple waist and curly tresses. If he was trying to formulate a plan of escape he did not show it. “If you’ll take your hands off me long enough to climb up on that peak,” she said presently, “you’ll see something that will surprize you.” He cast her a questioning glance, then obeyed with a shrug of his massive shoulders. Clinging to the spire-like pinnacle, he stared out over the forest roof. He stood a long moment in