"Debra Doyle & James MacDonald - Mageworlds 04 - The Gathering Flame" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Debra)

Cautionary Prologue
"What you have to realize, son, is that almost all of the people who were there at the time are dead. And
everybody who's still alive is lying to you about something."
-General Jos Metadi to an unknown interviewer, some time after the end of the First Mage war.



I. Galcenian Dating 974 A.F.
Entiboran Regnal Year 38 Veratina
Errec Ransome-late of Ilarna, now copilot and navigator of Jos Metadi's Warhammer-ran up
the broad staircase of the Double Moon two steps at a time. In the public rooms behind him, the sounds
and smells of raucous celebration filled the air like thick smoke. Metadi's privateers had come back again
to Waycross, and the party had just begun.
They'd had a good run this time. Nobody had gotten blown up-except for Celeyn, and that was
his own damned fault-and the Mageships had dropped out of hyperspace right where Errec had told Jos
that they would: cargo ships, big and arrogant, full of the treasures of half a hundred worlds. The Mages
hadn't expected serious trouble at a neutral planet so close to their home territory, and they'd counted on
the warships escorting them to take care of any trouble that did occur.
They'd been wrong. The Ophelan system was a long way from the main privateering lanes. That
was why the cargo ships had chosen it for their fuel and repair stop before heading back across the gap
between the Mageworlds and the civilized galaxy. But Ophel wasn't so far away from civilization that Jos
Metadi couldn't persuade other privateer captains to follow him there. When the cargo ships and their
escorts made the translation from hyperspace, it wasn't just Warhammer that waited at the drop points
for them: it was a whole fleet.
Now that the voyage was over and the share-out done, most of the privateers seemed intent on
spending their cut of the proceedings as fast as possible, with the eager help of every bartender and
brothel keeper in Waycross.
Jos Metadi had already banked most of his portion-he hadn't made it out of the Gyfferan slums,
and into command of his own ship, by being careless about finances- but even he hadn't banked it all.
The captain liked money, and with good reason, but he also liked the undoubted pleasures that money
could buy.
The Double Moon sold most of them. Ransome was aware, as he hurried up the carpeted
staircase, of the seething, sweating presence of the establishment's other patrons. He ignored the pressure
of their unspoken desires, and made his way down the narrow, red-carpeted upstairs hall.
Translucent glowcubes in filigree holders marked each door, but Errec didn't have to read the
brass plate outside number seven to know that he'd found the right room. He pounded on the polished
wood with his fist-pounded hard, because the Double Moon had extensive soundproofing underneath its
old-style facade-and shouted, "Jos! Are you in there?"
The answer came back, muffled by a treble thickness of wood and insulation: "Go away, Errec.
I'm busy."
"Jos, there's a girl downstairs!"
"There's a girl right here. Go'away."
Errec tried again. "The one downstairs wants to talk to you!"
"One minute!"
Errec laughed under his breath and started back down the hall to the stairs. Jos was likely to take
more than a minute to disentangle himself, and somebody ought to keep the lady amused while she was
waiting.
The private room downstairs was furnished with carved wooden furniture upholstered in crimson
velvet. The lady herself-fair and petite in a full-skirted gown of frosty blue-sat bolt upright in one of the
high-backed chairs, knees together and hands on knees. A formal mask of black velvet covered her face