"Denning, Troy - Forgotten Realms - Black Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Denning Troy)

BLACK WIZARDS
Douglas Miles

Wbat bas gone
King Kendrick of Corwell was one of the four kings of the folk who dwelled upon the Moonshae Islands. Corwell, along with the Kingdoms of Moray and Snowdown, owed fealty to Callidyrr, for Callidyrr was home to the king of Cal-lidyrr, who was the titular High King of all the Ffolk.
Tristan Kendrick, Prince of Corwell, had studied some of the arts of kingship very diligently, swordfighting and military science in particular. However, he was less interested in the more mundane aspects of rulership, such as economics and agriculture.
Robyn, the king's ward, had been raised as his own daughter, but her interests lay beyond the castle. She showed a proclivity toward the woodlands and all things natural.
In the twentieth year of the prince's life, Kazgoroth the Beast rose from its fetid bog to threaten the kingdom of Corwell. Walking the land in a number of guises, it recruited allies and sought its one goal: the disruption of the Balance so crucial to the FfolkЧ and the very isles themselves.
Forced into battle, Robyn found herself wielding potent druidic magicЧ earthmagic that was the legacy of the mother she had never known. Tristan fought the Beast and created an army to defeat Kazgoroth's minions. In the process, he found the Sword of Cymrych Hugh. This legendary weapon, lost for centuries, allowed him to slay the Beast and served as a symbol of the lost unity of his people.
At the same time, Tristan and Robyn found their relationship changing, growing as a long-dormant love for each other awakened inside them.
But Robyn could not ignore her legacy, and so she went to study under her aunt, Genna Moonsinger, the Great Druid of all the Moonshaes. Tristan remained in Corwell, enjoying the accolades of victory, and swiftly growing bored.
We resume their story one year after the death of the Beast. . . .
The plane of Gehenna was a bleak and oppressive realm, hostile to mortal life. It was a world built upon a vast, unending mountainside, sloping steeply always, never reaching a bottom or a summit. Gouts of steam erupted from the mountainside, and rivers of lava flowed across it, sizzling through long cataracts, collectingin bubbling pools.
Such was the domain of Bhaal, murderous god of death.
A seething, angry god, Bhaal thrived on bloody, violent acts. He grew in strength as his worshippers spread across the worlds, slaying in his horrible name.
Bhaal sought vengeance.
A minion of the god had been killed nearly one mortal year ago, but an eyeblink to the god. Kazgoroth was neither Bhaal's most powerful servant, nor his most favored. Buthe was slain by a mortal, and the man who dared strike a minion of Bhaal's might as well strike at the god himself.
The bloodlust of the god began as a simple hatredЧa desire to see this mortal, and those who aided the man, slain. Bhaal anticipated their deaths with grisly pleasure.
But the man was a prince. And he was the beloved of a druid. His woman carried her own power, and she served a goddess who was foreignЧand thus, hatefulЧto Bhaal.
And so Bhaal's need for vengeance evolved and grew into something far more terrible than any plot for murder. The prince was a leader of his land, and the druid was a caretaker of tha t land. It seemed fitting to Bhaal tha t not only the mortals, but their land itself, should die.
The god had a powerful tool for wreaking this vengeance. Bhaal's minion, Kazgoroth, though slain, was not entirely gone. One fragment of the BeastЧits heartЧremained, clutched desperately by one of its former servants. Bhaal
BLACK WIZARDS
took careful note of the Heart of Kazgoroth. He would have a use for it soon.
Yes, he decided. The land of these mortals would become a land of deathЧa nation ruled by the dead, over the dead. No living thing would mar it.
Thus was dealt the vengeance of Bhaal.
"Enter."
The assassin looked around sharply but could not see the source of the hissing voice. Nevertheless, the stone wall before him slipped open, revealing a corridor even blacker than the surrounding night.
Muttering a curse, the assassin entered and disappeared into inky darkness. In his silk shirt and trousers he slipped along without a whisper, his soft leather boots gliding silently over the smooth stone floor All around him the sprawling vastness of Caer Callidyrr lay dark and slumbering.
The assassin walked cautiously into one of the castle's towers. He saw blackness, a deep and unnatural gloom. Then he heard a soft snapping of fingers, and the darkness dissipated. But it did not exactly grow light; the effect was more a relief of blackness. Faint rays of moonlight spilled through narrow windows high in the walls, and he could vaguely make out the council.
The Seven sat around a long, U-shaped table. They faced the assassin, their table open before him like the jaws of some beast. Deep, cowled hoods concealed the faces. The assassin looked up at them and clamped his teeth together. He could scarcely repress a shudder of revulsion.
The one in the center, he knew, was Cyndre.
The master of the wizards confirmed his identity, his gentle voice belying the terrible powers at his command.
"You were careless about that task in Moray. King Dynne-gall's daughter survived long enough to provide a description of your men."
The assassin sniffed loudly through his broad nose. "The guards were more numerous than you led me to expect. We had to kill several dozen of them. And the nursemaid hid the baby in an atticЧit took us hours to dig out the little
DOUGLAS NILES
brat. I lost two good men, and the mission was a successЧ the Dynnegall line is endedЧas I ended the royal line of Snowdown for you last year." The assassin punctuated his statement with a low, inhuman growl.
"I do not expect such sloppiness, for the coin I am paying," said the great wizard quietly. "Even your mother, the ore, could have done better."
The insult was too much. A dagger flashed from the assassin's sleeve. Faster than the eye could follow, it flicked toward the wizard's unarmored breast.
The others gasped in surprise, flinching at the sudden attack, but Cyndre merely raised a finger and quietly spoke a word. Instantly, only a foot from its target, the dagger was transformed. In its place, a large bat fluttered upward, turning to lunge at the assassin's throat.
Another dagger flashed, but this one remained in the assassin's hand. He casually spitted the bat upon the thin blade and flicked the carcass to the tabletop before Cyndre. He could sense Cyndre's eyes upon him, boring from the depths of his hood.
For a moment the room remained frozen, the wizards intent upon their leader. The assassin stood stock-still before the table. The black wizard gestured casually, and the dead bat instantly disappeared. A smooth, amused chuckle emerged from the dark hood, and the tension in the room slowly drained away.
"Now, Razfallow," continued the wizard, his voice as pleasant as ever, "you will soon be free to return to Calim-shan. However, one more king upon the Moonshaes threatens the dominance of our . . . liege.
"You will take your band to Caer Corwell. The prince of that realm is something of a local hero, and he is a menace to our ambitions. The cleric, Hobarth, has warned us that we must act quickly, for the prince has a beloved who is equally dangerous.
"You are to kill them, and the king, as well. The fee will be twice your usualЧthrice if you can return the prince's sword to Caer Callidyrr. Above all else, this prince must die."
A DRGtid of Mj/Rlocta Vale
"Let's go swimming now! Can't we, Robyn? It's so hot, and we've been working so hard. . . ."
"You mean I've been working so hard!" said the young woman, pausing to push a sweat-soaked strand of black hair back from her face. "All you've done is get in the way!"
Her companion, a two-foot-long orange dragon that buzzed like a hummingbird around her, turned his scaly snout away in momentary indignation.
"Besides, Newt," Robyn continued, "I've got to sort out this tangle of vines before we do anything else. They seem to grow thicker every day! I don't know how Genna tended this entire grove by herself." Once again, she pried the vines away from the trunk with a heavy stick, grasping one and pulling it free from the ground. She tossed the vine onto a pile of its fellows, destined for an evening fire.
"Why do you have to sort these stupid old vines anyway?" the dragon sulked. "Let them grow the way they want toЧ and let us go swimming the way we want to."