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

upon the surface of the sea.
Tristan, Daryth and Pontswain, bobbing in the water and gaping in awe, stared at the most magnificent castle that they had ever seen.
It stood motionless, vast and imposing, like a monument to some forgotten era of grandness. Water spilled down its vast sides, thinning into a soft mist that floated around them. Tendrils of seaweed hung from the crenelated parapet, draping across the sides.
The whole structure was oddly silent, as if mere sound could not convey the grandness of its arrival nor the majesty of its appearance. And too, there was warmth flowing from the edificeЧnot a physical warmth, but a spiritual sense of power and majesty. Each of them felt this magical emanation as both welcoming and forboding.
The castle remained, and they knew they had no choice but to enter.
"Here, lady. Wood!"
Smiling broadly, the man dumped a huge pile of twigs and dried wood at Robyn's feet.
"Thank you, Acorn," she replied, warily meeting his gaze. She had taken to calling the man after the seed of the oak tree, for he could not remember any name of his own. The name seemed to suit himЧhis nature was childlike, but Robyn sensed that he harbored a deep inner strength. She wanted to nurture that strength, to see him grow. At the same time, she was still a little afraid of him.
"You did very well," she added, embarrassed by the way he beamed at the praise. "Now, if you will fetch some water so I can rinse these linens, we can take a rest."
Eagerly, Acorn scrambled toward the silver ribbon of bubbling water that ran through Genna's grove, only to pause and return sheepishly.
"Forgot buckets!" he explained, chuckling over and over as if it were some great joke.
As the days had passed, the scraggly stranger had grown more lucid and helpful. He was stronger than an average man and had skills that were useful in tending the grove.
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All of which were very helpful, Robyn thought with a twinge of worry, for Genna's illness had grown suddenly worse. She had spent the last few days in bed, tossing deliriously in the depths of a fever, barely rational.
Newt had not spent much time in the grove, either. He had taken long excursions throughout the Vale, even visiting the Fens occasionally. Today, he had gone off to seek Grunt's company, almost certainly to annoy the old bear. Grunt had a notoriously short temper, and Newt delighted in driving the animal into a rage with his sudden spells of invisibility.
Robyn thought again about Acorn. He was friendly and almost pathetically grateful for any praise she gave him, but more and more the man raised shudders of uneasiness within her. One minute he seemed harmless, and the next minute she was afraid of him. But she did not know why.
"Here, lady. Here water!"
Proudly, Acorn returned with two sloshing buckets. He set them down at Robyn's feet as she thanked him, bobbing his head up and down eagerly. She quickly rinsed the light blankets and hung them to dryЧwell practiced motions, as Genna's sweaty fever necessitated frequent linen changes. She tried to ignore the feeling that Acorn's eyes were boring into her back as she stretched to reach the clothesline.
"Come along, now," she said as he followed at her heels. "Why don't we go and sit by the pond? I have some carrots and apples that we can have for lunch."
They walked across Genna's garden, a lush field of wildflowers and herbs. In the center of the garden was a broad pond with a grassy island at its heart. In places, the sandy bottom of the pond was smoothЧperfect for swimming. Elsewhere, lily pads spread across the surface, home to myriad frogs and turtles. Great white swans swam regally among them. Robyn thought again, as she beheld the scene, that it must be the most beautiful place in the world.
As they approached the pond, the water swirled momentarily, and then the smooth bridge of sand rose to the surface. She took no notice of the phenomenon, so accustomed to the ways of the grove was she, but Acorn hesitated.
"Come on," she encouraged, stepping onto the firm bridge. Reluctantly, he followed her to the island while she
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selected a smooth place for their lunch.
She sat comfortably on the soft bank, stretching her legs over the water and kicking her feet to relieve her taut muscles. Acorn settled slowly, almost reverently, beside her. She noticed, uneasily, that the look on his face was no longer one of innocence. Instead, he looked as though he struggled to conceal some secret thought.
"Here," she said to cover her nervousness. "Have an apple."
Acorn took the fruit and chomped greedily into it, ignoring the pieces that scattered in his beard or sprayed into the air. In seconds he had finished and reached forward to snatch another from the basket on Robyn's lap.
She thought wistfully of picnics she had shared with Tristan. They certainly weren't like this! What he was doing at that moment, she wondered. Did he think of her? Did he miss her? A terrible sense of depression seized her, and for a moment she toyed with the idea of renouncing her studies and racing home to Corwell to see him. But in the next moment she discarded the thought, knowing she could not forsake the calling of the goddess. But why did she have to be so lonely?
She ate absently, suddenly aware of Acorn's closeness. She felt uncomfortable, but didn't want to offend him by moving away. Turning to look at him, she was startled to see him staring intently at her face. His eyes were clear, but they seemed to burn with a frightening intensity.
"Lady ... you like me? My friend?" Still that burning gaze.
"Yes, Acorn ... of course I like you. Haven't IЧ"
"I mean, youЧ" he cut her off awkwardly. "Lady, you are my lady!" Suddenly his hand reached out to clasp her thigh. He leaned quickly forward to force her backward onto the ground, his mouth seeking hers.
"No! Get off me!" she screamed, pushing against him and rolling to the side.
"Mine!" he cried, scrambling forward on all fours to lunge at her before she could stand.
She punched him in the face, but he still tackled her, his eyes gleaming madly. He pinned her to the ground and grasped a handful of her gown.
Terror galvanized Robyn and once again she twisted free,
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but this time he ripped half her garment away. He paused, staring stupidly, and in that split second she recalled a piece of her training: a fast, simple spell.
"Stop!"
The command was a physical attack, slamming into the crazed man and holding him in place, poised to leap. Slowly, the light of madness died in his eyes.
She stared at him in hatred and anger. She wanted to strike him or kick himЧto somehow cause him pain. But something, perhaps it was pity for his degraded state, stayed her hand. She was shaking with fright and tension and rage, and she didn't even want to look at him again.
Gasping, she gathered her gown about her and stumbled toward the cottage, leaving him bound by the spell.
"Come on!"
Tristan was propelling himself toward the castle even before Daryth spoke, too surprised to wonder if the grand structure was illusion or reality. Canthus and Pontswain swam beside them, their weariness forgotten. Soon the men and the dog reached the foot of the massive, smoothly hewn wall. The shining pink surface rose straight into the air above them and seemed to continue underwater as far as they could see.
"Rosy quartz," muttered the Calishite. "There'll be no climbing it here."
"WhereЧ?" began the prince, dismayed at the thought of succor so close at hand yet possibly unreachable.
"Let's try the gate," suggested Daryth, swimming easily along the base of the wall. Pontswain followed, while Tristan and Canthus sputtered and splashed in the rear.
The Calishite reached the gate first. The prince watched him rise slowly from the water, pulling himself gradually up the wall. With a supple swing, the Calishite carried himself over the gate and out of Tristan's sight.
Tristan heard nothing for a few seconds, but then the portal began to drop with a steady creaking. In a moment, he could see his friend operating the smooth iron winch that patiently fed chain to the lowering gate. In another
DOUGLAS NILF.S