"doyle, deborah - mcdonald, james d - circle of magic 04 - danger in the palace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Debra)

series of corridors to a room filled with books.
The messenger stopped, turned to Randal, and spoke
a short phrase. Randal guessed that it
meant something like "stay here"; he nodded, bowed, and
clasped his hands before him in a gesture of patience.
The response appeared to satisfy the dismessenger.
He departed through another door, leaving Randal behind
to look around curiously.
One side of the long, narrow room was all windows,
opening onto a walled garden. Bookshelves lined
the other walls from floor to ceiling. The sight of the
rows of books carried Randal back for a moment
to his early days at the Schola.
The library in Tarnsberg,
he remembered with a smile,
was the
first
one
Id
ever seen.
If truth be told, in those days he'd barely been
able to read. In kingless, unsettled Brecelande, where
he'd been born, knowledge of letters had mattered less
than skill with a sword. But Randal had given up
his future as heir to a northern barony to study the
art of magic and had forsworn the use of knightly
weapons forever. Now the fat, leather-bound volumes
seemed to call to him from the library walls.
He contented himself, however, with scanning the titles
of the ones nearest to him. The names intrigued him, and
he was debating with himself the wisdom of taking down a
book when he heard the sound of the far door opening.
The redheaded man beckoned to him from the doorway.
Randal left the bookshelves and went past the
messenger into the next room.
The door closed behind him. Suddenly, the air was
filled with the intense, neck-prickling sensation of
powerful magic. Randal felt other, nonmaterial
locks and barriers slip into place.
Is this a trap?
he thought, fighting a surge of panic. But when no
immediate dangers arose to menace him, he forced himself
to look calmly around the chamber. The books and
equipment scattered about only confirmed what he had
already guessed-he was in the workroom of a master
wizard.
The dark, hawk-nosed man waiting at the desk,
then, must be the wizard to whom the room belonged.
To Randal, he seemed richly enough dressed to be the
Prince himself. His long robe was cloth-of-gold,