"Asprin, Robert - Thieves' World 08 - Soul of the City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

archmage and taken solace in the protection of a god three centuries past-began
to feel drowsy. His eyelids grew heavy and Abarsis's words grew loud, echoing
unintelligibly so that it seemed as if Theron and Abarsis spoke together in some
room far away.

Just before he collapsed on the table, snoring deeply in a sleep that would last
until the weather broke the following day, Tempus heard Abarsis say clearly,
"And for you, Tempus, whom I love above all men, I have this special gift... not
much, just a token: on this one evening, my lord, I have haggled from the gods
for you a good night's rest. So now, sleep and dream of me."

And thus Tempus slept, and when he woke, Abarsis was long gone and preparations
for Theron, Tempus, and a hand-picked contingent to depart for Sanctuary were
well under way.

Trouble was coming to Sanctuary; Roxane could feel it in her bones. The
premonition cut like a knife to the very quick of the Nisibisi witch, once
called Death's Queen, who now huddled in her shrouded hovel on Sanctuary's White
Foal River, beset from within and without.

Once she had been nearly all powerful; once she had been a perpetrator, not a
victim; once she had decreed Suffering and marshalled Woe upon human cattle from
Sanctuary's sorry spit to Wizardwall's wildest peaks.

But that was before she'd fallen in love with a mortal and paid the ancient
price. Perhaps if that mortal had not been Stealth, called Nikodemos, Sacred
Bander and member in good standing ofTempus's blood-drenched cadre of Stepsons,
it would not seem so foolish now to have traded in immortality for the ability
to shed a woman's tears and feel a woman's fleeting joy.

But Niko had betrayed her. She should have known; if she'd been a human woman
she would have-no man, and most especially no thrice-paired fighter who'd taken
the Sacred Band oath, would feel loyalty or honor toward a woman when it
conflicted with his bond with men.

She should have known, but she hadn't even guessed. For Niko was the tenderest
of souls where women were concerned; he loved them as a class, as he loved
fine horses and young children-not lasciviously, but honestly and freely.
Now that she understood, it was an insult: She was no waif, no fuddle
-headed twat, no inconsequential piece of fluff. And there was injury to
add to insult's sting: Roxane had given up immortality to love a mortal who
wasn't capable of appreciating such a gift.

She had been betrayed by her "beloved" over a matter that should have been
towering only in its insignificance: the "life" of a petty mageling, a would-be
wizard called Randal, a flop-eared, freckled fool who fooled now with forces
beyond his ability to control.

Yes, Niko had dared to trick Roxane, to distract her with his charms while this
posturing prestidigitator, whom she'd thought to have for dinner, got away.