"Cook, Glen - The Tower of Fear" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Glen)

The sorcerer sat on his dark throne, amused. He would wait a while longer before he crushed the invaders. They would perish in agony, every one, Herodian and Dartar traitor . . .

Something moved in the shadows at the far end of that last temple of Gorloch. He sprang up, robes flying, eyes wide. He did not recognize the man but knew what he must be. "You!"

"Yes, High Priest." There was soft mockery in the voice. The man wore peasant garb. He was too tall to be Herodian, too dark to be Qushmarrahan. The breath of the desert informed his voice but he was no Dartar. "Another has come."

Nakar relaxed. They came and they came but he devoured them all. "I should have suspected." He chuckled. "Cado has been unnaturally lucky."

"Not my doing, wizard. Cado's genius, your failings, and human frailty."

The sorcerer sneered. "The fire is come. It will scour away the weakness of Aram. Herod's triumph will turn in her hands, like an adder. Gorloch will stand forth in his glory again. Come. I grow impatient. I will destroy them after I finish you." He laughed. "Come, little dog of the desert. Let it be done between me and yours. You are the last."

"No." The man's slow advance did not falter. "There is another training already. Always there will be another somewhere, hidden from your eye, till you are driven from the world and torment it no more." A dagger flashed in his hand. It radiated
power.

Fear touched the sorcerer for an instant. Then the rage came. He would sweep them out of the path of destiny. "Gorloch, attend me!" He hurled himself toward his challenger. They met before the great idol, beside the altar where thousands had screamed their last that Gorloch might be pleased and his apostle Nakar might live forever.

* * *

The Witch entered the temple as the men met. She gasped, unable to believe even now that she saw it. How had the man gotten through the citadel's defenses? What man could have earned such great power?

Clouds of light and shadow contended. Larger than life, figures turned in an almost formal, elegant dance around the slice and dart of flashing mystic blades.

The shadow was overpowering the light slowly, consuming it, but she did not see that in her fear for the man she loved. She saw only that an enemy was trying to kill him and that enemy was a great enough wizard to have penetrated the citadel's impenetrable defenses. She screamed, all reason fled before the prospect of loss. "Nakar!"

Startled, the shadow turned her way.

The light struck its blow.

Nakar's bellow shook the fortress. He lurched into his enemy, clawing at his attacker's throat. Their struggle flung them against the altar.

The Witch wailed. She had killed him with her interruption. While they yet fought, before death claimed its prize, she wove her greatest spell ever, binding them in timelessness. Someday she would bring back the man she loved, when she found the way.

She finished. In pain, as she collapsed, she cried, "AZEL!" The summons rolled through the citadel but there was no answer. Nakar had sent his right hand far away, to work his will in another land. There would be no help.

It was too late. For now.

The avalanche of rain faded as fast as it had come. The clouds blew away from Qushmarrah like the souls of men newly dead. Throughout the city men began to lay down their arms. Nakar was gone.

* * *

In the Shu the stillness yielded to the cry of a newborn. And a moment later its cries were joined by those of another entrant into the lists of life.

The war ended. The wheel turned. A new story began.



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