"Dragonlance - Deathgate 1 - Dragon Wing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragonlance)

The executioner grabbed hold of Hugh's hair, intending to position the prisoner's head on the block. But Magicka, perhaps sensing an uneasiness in the crowd that not even the excitement of a forthcoming execution could quite banish, raised a restraining hand.

"Halt," he cried. His robes swirling around him in the chill wind that had sprung up, the wizard walked toward the block. "Hugh the Hand," said Magicka in a loud, stern voice, "I give you one more chance. Tell us-now that you are near the Realm of Death-have you anything to confess?"

Hugh raised his head. Perhaps the fear of approaching oblivion had finally struck him.

"Yes. I have something to confess."

"I'm glad we understand each other," said Magicka gently. The smile of triumph on the thin, aesthetic face was not lost on the watchful Gareth. "What is it you have to regret in leaving this life, my son?"

The Hand's swollen mouth twisted. Straightening his shoulders, he looked at Magicka and said coolly, "That I never killed one of your kind, wizard."

The crowd gasped in pleasurable horror. Three-Chop Nick chuckled beneath his hood. The longer this death dragged out, the better the wizard would reward it.

Magicka smiled with cool pity.

"May your soul rot like your body," he said.

Casting Nick a look that plainly invited the executioner to have a good time, the wizard stepped back well out of the way, to keep the blood from spattering on his robes.

The executioner drew forth a black handkerchief and started to bind it around Hugh's eyes.

"No!" the assassin shouted harshly. "I want to carry that face with me."

"Get on with it!" Foam flecked the wizard's lips.

Nick grabbed his hair, but Hugh shook the hand free. Voluntarily the prisoner laid his head down upon the bloodstained marble. His eyes were wide open, staring unblinkingly, accusingly at Magicka. The executioner reached down, took hold of the man's short braid, and yanked it over to one side. Three-Chop liked a clear expanse of neck with which to work.

Nick raised his blade. Hugh drew a breath, gritted his teeth, and kept his eyes focused on the wizard. Gareth, watching, saw Magicka blench, swallow, and dart hasty glances here and there, as though seeking escape.

"The horror of this man's evil is too much!" the wizard cried. "Be swift! I cannot bear it!"

Gareth gripped his knife. Nick's arm muscles bulged, preparing for the downward stroke. Women covered their eyes and peeped out between their fingers, men craned to see over each other's heads, children were hastily lifted up to get a better view.

And then there came, from the gates, the clash of arms.


CHAPTER 3

KE'LITH KEEP, DANDRAKE: MID REALM

A GIGANTIC SHAPE, BLACKER THAN THE LORDS OF NIGHT, APPEARED ABOVE THE KEEP'S towers. No one could see clearly in the gloom, but the flapping of huge wings was audible. The gate guards clashed sword against shield, sounding the alarm, causing everyone in the courtyard to turn his attention from the impending execution to the threat above. Knights drew their swords and shouted for their mounts. Raids by Tribus corsairs were commonplace, and one had been expected daily in retaliation for the abduction and subsequent death of the elflord who had allegedly hired Hugh the Hand.

"What is it?" bellowed Gareth, endeavoring vainly to see what was going on, torn between leaving his post at the side of the prisoner and rushing to the gates that were his responsibility.

"Ignore it! Get on with the execution!" snarled Magicka.

But Three-Chop Nick demanded an attentive audience, and he had lost this one. Half of the crowd was staring at the gate; the other half was running toward it. Lowering his blade with an air of wounded pride, Nick waited in hurt and dignified silence to see what all the fuss was about.

"It's a real dragon, fools! One of ours, not an elf ship. It's one of ours!" Gareth shouted. "You two, keep an eye on the prisoner." The captain raced to the gates to quell the spreading panic.