"Brunner,.John.-.Traveler.In.Black.V1 (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brunner John)

"In this matter," the enchanter continued, ignoring the exclamation, "you and I are on the same side: so to say, the outside. It will perhaps interest you to know that he of whom we were speaking a moment ago- whose nature is single-was sitting in that chair only two days ago."
The Margrave shivered, and wondered what he had stumbled into. He said respectfully, "Manuus, your powers are beyond imagining!"
"Oh, he did not come at my bidding!" With a thin chuckle. "Rather the reverse!"
"However that may be, I shall take leave of you," said the Margrave, rising and bowing. "For if this matter is his concern, I dare do nothing to intervene."
Manuus shook his head, his eyes twinkling. "I am afraid you have no choice, Margrave," he said. "Like it or not, you and I are both concatenated in this web."
At which the Margrave departed, his heart so heavy he could barely lift his boots, and when he was gone Manuus fell to ceremonies of a land that had not been performed in living memory, and strange phenomena attended them. There was a storm on peaceful Lake Taxhling; in Barbizond, three madmen ran screaming through the streets; on a hill near Acromel, dust-devils ceased their whirling. Last, but not least, several persons in Ryovora itself saw visions of a disturbing nature, and went hastily to the new-designated temple to place yet more offerings at the feet of Bernard Brown and to consult the already sizable record of his sayings.
Studying them, they found no comfort.

VII

And thus the matter was to remain for another day. The Margrave, making as was his custom the best of a bad job, called up an obliging spirit and had a pavilion built in the Moth Garden to serve as a temporary surrogate for his palace; there he sat, swearing mightily, far into the night, while he pondered the information Manuus had divulged.
Those other nobles of Ryovora who were best skilled in the art of magic met to discuss in low tones over their wine the riddle of distinguishing divinity from humanity. They remained unswayed by both the clamor of the populace, led by Brim, and the scant evidence furnished by their interrogation of Bernard Brown. It seemed implausible, they allowed, that such a person should be a god; nonetheless, one must respect the powers of Manuus, and perhaps in the mood to make a jest of Ryovora he could have conjured up an authentic deity....
The common folk, similarly, found themselves impaled by a dilemma. However, they had been longing for a god of some sort for a considerable while; indisputably someone strange had come among them, preceded by complex indecipherable omens, and it was generally deemed advisable to act as though he were a genuine god until some incontestable argument to the contrary should be advanced.
So the night passed; and of those many who spent it restlessly, not the least fervent seeker of repose was Bernard Brown, for all that his couch was a vast stack of gorgeous offerings in velvet and satin.

It had been centuries since another city had marched against Ryovora. The citizens had long ago deduced that their best protection was their reputation; who after all would dare attack that city where pre-eminently the populace enjoyed the gift to plan and reason?
Perennially cautious, nonetheless, they financed the wages of a team of watchmen . . . and next day as dawn was breaking the current incumbent of the watchman's post en route to his customary breakfast gave a casual glance across the country separating Ryovora from Acromel.
And saw with astonishment-not to mention disbelief-that a red idol a hundred feet high was striding with enormous yells towards him.
Such an idol, the watchman realized, could be none other than the Quadruple God of Acromel.
Around the monstrous crimson feet were fetters of riveted steel; before and behind, men went with blazing torches on poles fifty feet long, prodding and driving it in a desired direction. Sometimes the thing's yelling howled into a ridiculous falsetto when a torch made contact with its blood-colored limbs, and the drovers had to scatter and flee from the blows of eight gigantic fists. But they returned, and it became plain to see that they now well understood the actions of their idol, and could drive it like a maddened bull because its rage made it unthinking.
The watchman sounded an alarm, that spread through the streets of Ryovora like flood-waters through a burst levee, and men, women, even children leapt from sleep to dash hither and thither in confusion.
One by one the nobles were summoned, and assembled on the ramparts in an impressive band; thousand by thousand the common folk acquired makeshift weapons-knives, scythes, axes-and numbered off into centuries to prepare for battle.
So arrayed they waited tensely while the sun cleared the horizon and the Quadruple God with his attendants came to take station before the city walls.
At a sign from one who seemed to be the leader, the torch-wielders compelled the god to halt, and he stood screaming empty threats at the unresponsive sky. Then this same man advanced to stand on a small knoll and gaze insolently at the nobles of Ryovora.
"Greetings!" he called merrily. "News has come to us in Acromel that you have been fortunate enough to acquire a god in the past few days! Well, as it happens we in Acromel have been fortunate in more ways than one-we have lost Duke Vaul, who had for many years oppressed us, and we have gained power of the Quadruple God." The man gestured over his shoulder at the misshapen idol.
"It seems to us," the spokesman went on, "that our god is very foolish, although extremely strong. It is said that your god is weak, but extremely wise. We have not been able to make head or tail of these cryptic utterances which have been relayed to us! Regardless of that, we wish to try conclusions and thus determine whether brute strength in a god is a quality superior to sageness. I await your answer, sirs and ladies! Failing this trial, we shall of course goad the Quadruple God into Ryovora, and since he overtops all but your highest towers, I suspect that would be a major misfortune for the city."
He bowed with a flourish of his right hand, and descended from the knoll.
The Margrave, scowling so deeply it seemed a ploughshare must have crossed his brow, called the nobles into conference on the ramparts, and spoke worriedly concerning this challenge. Some were of opinion that if the personage with many names and one nature had taken a hand, there was nothing any of them could do; others poured scorn on this faint-hearted attitude, among them Ruman, whose bull laugh echoed around the walls.
"Never say die!" he boomed. "Some magic is of an order that will bind even gods, and I have important knowledge of this magic. Go, fetch me a black goat and a white pigeon, and a mirror cracked from edge to edge, and I will discomfit the Quadruple Idiot over there!"
So it was ordained, and Ruman withdrew into a large black cloud with his goat, his pigeon and his mirror, and what he did to them brought about thunderclaps.
But eventually the cloud blew away, and there was no trace of Ruman.
"This is ridiculous!" said Gostala with feminine directness, and Petrovic nodded his old dried-up head.
"I agree," he rasped. "Goats, forsooth! Pigeons! Mirrors! Claptrap! Now I came prepared, Margrave- I have here a phial containing the blood of an unborn child. That and my knowledge are all I require."
Then Petrovic set about his task, and did what he had to do in the sight of all, which was most disturbing. The Margrave, trying not to watch, wished Petrovic had had the decency to conceal himself as Ruman had done.
Yet the business failed, and Petrovic returned to them at last speaking a tongue no one could understand, and burst into tears when he realized what had transpired. The great red idol still fumed and howled and shook his chains.
"Igoroth!" said Gostala in exasperation. "Dumedinnis! And likewise Algorethon!"
Three odd-looking gentlemen-one in blue, one in white, one in green-walked through a nearby wall and stood before her. None of them was entirely normal in appearance, though it was hard to say in what particular respect.
"Get rid of that-object!" directed Gostala forcefully.
The three peculiar personages looked at her, then at each other, then at her again. Premeditatedly, they shook their heads, and departed, taking her with them.
The Margrave hastily hurled a protective charm about the city, to guard against a re-appearance of the three-for they were notoriously tough to tackle-and bit his lip in frustration. This was a bad business altogether, and the worst fears he had carried away from his interview with Manuus were being overfulfilled.
"These are indeed magics to bind a god," said Eadwil, his boyish face white and strained because his feet were blazing hot-he had walked from his dwelling when news of the attack was brought. "But are they magics to bind one such as Manuus? Margrave, I think Tyllwin may be found in the vicinity."
"You are a true citizen of Ryovora," the Margrave said with enthusiasm. "That is clear reasoning."
He strode forward to the battlements and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Tyllwin!" he bellowed towards the Acromel party. "Tyllwin, ha!"
An acre of grass turned brown and died, while songbirds that had been chanting in the trees nearby fell stiffly from their perches. And from the besieging company the gaunt figure of Tyllwin was borne into view on the back of a brawny slave.
"You desire speech with me, Margrave?" said that scarecrow form.
"So this is your doing!" exclaimed the Margrave in disgust.
Tyllwin's thin chuckle carried clearly to his ears; also to those of various dogs, causing them to howl.
"Why, Margrave, did I not state that you and I are on the same side in this matter? Admit frankly that the pretended god in your palace is not to your taste! Admit that it is in our common interest to show his fallibility by matching him against this perfectly genuine god from Acromel!"
"It's for this reason that you have destroyed three of the leading enchanters of our city?" bellowed the Margrave. "Why could you not have left us to deal with the matter ourselves?"
Tyllwin's voice was suddenly as dull as doom. "Because he whose nature is single has a hand in the affair."