"Cook,.Rick.-.Wizardry.01.-.Wizard.Bane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Rick)

The wizard straightened. "Now come along, child. The place is near and we haven't much time. And you must tell me how you have been getting along. It's been such an age since I saw you last. You never come to the Capital, you know," he added in mild reproach.
"For those of us who cannot walk the Wizard's Way it is a long journey, Lord."
"Ah yes, you're right, of course," the old man chuckled. "But tell me, how do things go on in your village?"
Moira warmed. Studying under Patrius had nearly killed her several times, but of all her teachers she liked him the best. His absentminded, grandfatherly manner might be assumed, but no one who knew him doubted his kindness. She remembered sitting in the wizard's study of an afternoon drinking mulled cider and talking of nothing that mattered while dust motes danced in the sunbeams.
If Patrius was perhaps not the mightiest of the Mighty, he was certainly the best, the nicest and far and away the most human of that fraternity of powerful wizards. Walking with him Moira felt warm and secure, as if she were out on a picnic with a favorite uncle instead of abroad on the Fringe of the Wild Wood on one of the most dangerous days of the year.
Patrius took her straight into the forest, ignoring the potential danger spots all around. At length they came to a grassy clearing marked only by a rock off to one side.
"Now my child," he said, easing himself down on the stone and resting his staff beside him, "you're probably wondering what I'm up to, eh?"
"Yes, Lord." Moira stood a respectful distance away.
"Oh, come here my girl," he motioned her over. "Come, come, come. Be comfortable." Moira smiled and sat on the grass at his feet, spreading her skirt around her.
"To business then. I intend to perform a Great Summoning and I want your help."
Moira gasped. She had never seen even a Lesser Summoning, the materializing of a person or object from elsewhere in the World. It was solely the province of the Mighty and so fraught with danger that they did it rarely. A Great Summoning brought something from beyond the World and was far riskier. Of all the Mighty living, only Patrius, Bal-Simba and perhaps one or two others had ever participated in a Great Summoning.
"But Lord, you need several of the Mighty for that!"
Patrius frowned. "Do you presume to teach me magic, girl?"
"No, Lord," Moira dropped her eyes to the grass.
The wizard's face softened. "It is true that a Great Summoning is usually done by several of us acting in consort, but there is no need, really. Not if the place of Summoning is quiet."
So that was why Patrius had come to the Fringe, Moira thought. Here, away from the bustle and disturbance of competing magics, it would be easier for him to bend the fundamental forces of the World to his will.
"Isn't it dangerous, Lord?"
Patrius sighed, looking suddenly like a careworn old man rather than a mighty wizard or someone's grandfather.
"Yes Moira, it is. But sometimes the dangerous road is the safest." He shook his head. "These are evil times, child. As well you know."
"Yes, Lord," said Moira, with a sudden pang.
"Evil times," Patrius repeated. "Desperate times. They call for desperate measures.
"You know our plight, Moira. None know better than the hedge witches and the other lesser orders. We of the Mighty are isolated in our keeps and cities, but you have to deal with the World every day. The Wild Wood presses ever closer and to the south the Dark League waxes strong to make chaos of what little order there is in the World."
Moira's hand moved in a warding gesture at the mention of the League, but Patrius caught her wrist and shook his head.
"Softly, softly," he admonished. "We must do nothing to attract attention, eh?
"We need help, Moira," he went on. "The people of the North need help badly and there are none in the World who can help us. So I must go beyond the World to find aid."
He sighed again. "It was a long search, my child, long and hard. But I have finally located someone of great power who can help us, both against the League and against the World. Now the time is ripe and I propose to Summon him."
"But won't this alien wizard be angry at being brought here so rudely?"
"I did not say he was a wizard," Patrius said with a little shake of his head. "No, I did not say that at all."
"Who but a wizard can deal in magic?"
"Who indeed? Patrius responded. "Who indeed?"
It was Moira's turn to sigh, inwardly at least. Patrius had obviously told her as much of this mad venture as he intended to.
"What will you of me, Lord?" asked Moira.
"Just your aid as lector," the old wizard said. "Your aid and a drop of your blood."
"Willingly, Lord." Moira was relieved it wasn't more. Often great spells required great sacrifices.
"Well then," said the Wizard, picking up his staff and rising. "Let us begin. You'll have to memorize the chant, of course."
Patrius cut a straight branch from a nearby tree, stripped it of its leaves and stuck it upright in the clearing. Its shadow stretched perhaps four handsbreadths from its base, shortening imperceptibly as the sun climbed higher.
"When the shadow disappears it will be time," he told her. "Now, here is what you must say. . . ."
The words Moira had to speak were simple, but they sent shivers down her spine. Patrius repeated them to her several times, speaking every other word on each repetition so magic would not be made prematurely. As a trained witch Moira easily put the words in the right order and fixed them in her mind.
While the hedge witch worked on the spells, Patrius walked the clearing, carefully aligning the positions where they both would stand and scratching runes into the earth.
Moira looked up from her memorization. "Lord," she said dubiously, "aren't you forgetting the pentagram?"
"Eh? No girl, I'm not forgetting. We only need a pentagram to contain the Summoned should it prove dangerous."
"And this one is not dangerous?" Moira frowned.
Patrius chuckled. "No, he is not dangerous."
Moira wanted to ask how someone could be powerful enough to aid the Mighty and still not be dangerous even when Summoned, but Patrius motioned her to silence, gestured her to her place and, as the stick's shadow shortened to nothing, began his part of the chant.

"Aaagggh!" William Irving Zumwalt growled at the screen. Without taking his eyes off the fragment of code, he grabbed the can of cola balanced precariously on the mound of printouts and hamburger wrappers littering his desk.
"Found something, Wiz?" his cubicle mate asked, looking up from his terminal.
"Only the bug that's been screwing up the sort module."
William Irving Zumwalt-Wiz to one and all-leaned back and took a healthy swig of cola. It was warm and flat from sitting for hours, but he barely noticed. "Here. Take a look at this."
Jerry Andrews shifted his whale-like bulk and swiveled his chair to look over Wiz's shoulder. "Yeah? So?"