"I 03 - Brothers Majere" - читать интересную книгу автора (3))

Raistlin slumped over, his head buried in his arms. Motes of light danced before his eyes, as he had seen at an illusionist's show onceЧdancing, spinning, sparkling, changing color, shape, form, but always illusory, always unreal, no matter how strongly he willed it to be different. He thought of how often he wanted things to be different, to change because he desired them to change. He thought of how many times he'd been disappointed.
Why couldn't he have been given the physical strength to match his mental strength? Why couldn't he be handsome and winning and make people love him? Why had he been forced to sacrifice so much for so little?
"So little now," Raistlin said to himself. "But I will gain more as time goes by. Par-Salian promised that my strength would someday shape the world!"
He fumbled at his side for the bag of herbs. Who knew but what this might cure him? He had thought he was feeling stronger. But his weak hand would not obey his
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command, and it occurred to Raistlin that he required Caramon's help.
I don't need him, the mage thought with dull defiance. The lights in the room dimmed with the darkness covering his eyesight. Listening to himself, he realized how childish he sounded. His lips twisted in a bitter smile. Very well, I need him now. But there will come a time when I won't!
The barmaid brought him his water, setting the pitcher down quickly, wanting to leave, wanting to stay. Maggie didn't like the mage with the gold skin and wizard's staff and the terrifying eyes that stripped away the soul. She didn't like him, yet she was fascinated by him. He was so frail, so weak, yetЧsomehowЧso strong.
"I'll pour the water for you, sir, shall I?" she asked in almost a whisper.
Gasping, almost unable to lift his head, Raistiin nodded and clutched the cup with both hands. He drank deeply, his tongue numbed, the lack of sensation caused by his faintness removing any discomfort from the heat. He emptied the cup and let out a long, steady breath. The mage leaned against the back wall of the tavern, his eyes closed to the world.
Caramon found him thus when he returned. The warrior slid quietly into the booth, thinking his brother asleep.
"Caramon?" Raistlin asked without opening his eyes.
"Yeah, it's me. You want to go upstairs now?" The warrior's words were slurred, and his breath reeked of the foul-smelling liquor.
"In a moment. Which way is Mereklar from here?"
"North. Almost due north."
North. Without opening his eyes, Raistlin could see the white line running north, leading him, guiding him.
Impaling him.
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terrified himЧhe'd dreamed it many times beforeЧbut he couldn't force himself to wake. Something inside him, stronger than his own will, demanded that he give in.
The young mage left his bed, went to the door, stepped through the door, opened the door, closed the door, and walked into the gray mist that shrouded the hallway of the inn. Looking back, he could not see Caramon but he could see Caramon breathing peacefully in his sleep.
The mage took to the stairs that led down to the main hall. In his hand was the Staff of Magius, though he didn't remember taking it with him.
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He needed light. The way was terrifyingly dark except for the white line that flowed beneath him with power and for the golden thread that connected him with another. "Shirak" he whispered.
The line guided him, directing his steps. He wandered the hallways and pathways of the inn and the surrounding areas, which were covered by gray mists that moved and roiled with unseen life. Ahead lay the one he sought, the one who had the answers to so many of his questions, the lifebringer and the destroyer.
Fantastic winged beastsЧred, black, green, and blueЧflew across his path, disturbed from their dreams by his wanderings, the staff's light waking them. The beasts gazed at him with hate-filled, hungry eyes. They wanted to destroy him, but could not. Not now, not this day.
Raistlin entered a room. Its four walls were solid, but the ceiling and floor lacked substance. A small table stood in front of him. He took one of the two drinks upon it and gulped it down. The liquid brought cold, soothing reliefЧa taste of fruit and spirit. He waited for the other to arrive.
A shadowy figure clad in long, black robes, dimly seen, dimly recognized, appeared.
"You are he?" Raistlin asked. His voice sounded strange. He didn't recognize it as his own. He saw the golden thread run glistening from himself to the other.
"Of course. You don't remember?" asked the other, as he always did.
"And the price?" Raistlin inquired, as he always did.
"You have already paid a part. The rest will be paid later," answered the other, as he always answered.
Only this time, there was a difference. The conversation did not end. The room did not vanish. Raistlin was able to ask the one question previously forbidden to him.
"And my reward?"
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"Follow the line, as others are."
"Others?"
"You are watched even now."
"Who can see me here?"
"A man, though not a man."
"Does he wish me good or evil?"
"It depends on what you wish him."
Raistlin left the four walls with the ceiling and floor that didn't matter, the winged beasts flying from his path. The line led him back to the inn and the safety of his bed. The golden thread flowed backward, shimmering, trailing off into darkness.
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r/?e city OF MenekJan stooo IN tlje Mibb/e Of a fra/-angle shaped by three huge stone walls, each towering thirty feet high. The stone was pure, unblemished, without seams, cracks, or holes. But the white stone walls that faced outward were etched with symbols, signs, and pictures, each depicting some era of the world. Some of the legends were easily discernibleЧthe Greystone of Gargath, the Hammer of Kharas, Huma and the Silver Dragon. Others had been lost to the memory of human, elf, or dwarf. All were depicted with a skill none now could rival or hope to attain.
When the stories came to an end, the walls were left
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blank, as if waiting for the original artisan to return and place another piece of history upon them. Those who lived in Mereklar believed that when the outer walls were filled with stories, the world would end and another would be reborn in its place.
Unlike the outer walls, the inner walls of the city held no symbols. The ancient stone could not be cracked by any tool or weapon known to the hands of Krynn. It was a mystery to the citizens how anyone came to build the walls. In fact, the very origin of Mereklar was as much a mystery to the current inhabitants of the city as it was to their ancestors.