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

The boy saw the three well on their way before he ran to an old, dilapidated inn that huddled in the woods near the crossroads. A man sat at a table, an untasted drink in his hand.
The boy went up to the man and told what he had seen.
"A warrior, a mage, and a kender. All three heading for Mereklar. And now that I've done what you wanted, where's my money?" the child demanded boldly. "You promised."
The man asked a few questions, wanting to know what color robes the mage was wearing and if the warrior appeared to be very old and battle-hardened.
"No," said the boy, considering. "He's only about the age of my big brother. Twenty or so if he's a day. But his weapons seemed well used. I don't think you'll pick him off so easily."
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The man fished a steel piece from his pocket and tossed it on the table. Rising from his seat with unusual haste, considering he'd been sitting in the inn for three daysЧ ever since he'd posted the signЧthe man ran out into the woods and was soon lost to sight in the shadows.
IS
Cljapteu i
awoke fnoM Deep sluMben fo f/?e SOUN&
of pipesЧa haunting, eerie sound that reminded him of a time of everlasting pain, a time of torture and torment. Propping himself up on weak elbows from his red, tattered sleeping roll, he stared into the embers of the fire.
The dying coals only served to remind Raistlin of his ill health. How long had it been since he took the test? How much time had passed since the wizards in the Tower of High Sorcery had demanded this sacrifice in return for his magic? Months. Only months. Yet it seemed to him that he'd been suffering like this all his life.
Lying back down, Raistlin lifted his hands up in front
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of his face, examining the bones, veins, and sinews, barely discernible in the dimly lit grove. The firelight gave his flesh an unearthly reddish tinge, reflecting off his golden skinЧthe gold skin he had earned in his gambit for personal power, gold skin he had earned fighting for his life.
Smiling grimly, Raistlin clenched his hand into a fist. He'd won. He'd been victorious. He had defeated them all.
But his moment of triumph was short-lived. He began to cough uncontrollably, the spasms shaking and convulsing him like a battered puppet.
The pipes played on while Raistlin managed to catch his breath. He fumbled at his waist to find a small burlap bag filled with herbs. Holding this over his nose and mouth, he breathed the sickly sweet scent of crushed leaves and boiled twigs. The spasms eased, and Raistlin dared let himself hope that this time he'd found a cure. He refused to believe he would be this feeble all of his life.
The herbs left a bitter taste on his lips. He stashed the pungent bag away in a purse under his cloth belt, which was a darker red than the rest of his robes from constant use and wear. He didn't look for the blood that was beginning to slowly dry on the medicine pouch. He knew it would be there.
Breathing slowly, Raistlin forced himself to relax. His eyes closed. He imagined the many and varied lines of power running through his lifeЧthe glowing, golden weave of threads of his magic, his mind, his soul. He held his life in his hands. He was the master of his own destiny.
Raistlin listened to the pipes again. They did not play the eerie, unnatural music he thought he had heard upon wakingЧthe music of the dark elf, the music he dreamed about in his worst nightmares since his indoctrination
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into the higher orders of sorcery. Instead it was the shrill, lively music of an inconsiderate kender.
Throwing off the heavy blankets piled on top of him, Raistlin shivered in the cold evening air. He clutched his staff with hands eager to feel the smooth wood once again safely in their grip, and pulled himself upright.
"Shirak" Raistlin said softly.
Power flowed from his spirit into the staff, mingling with the magic already housed in the black-wood symbol of the mage's victory. A soft white light beamed from the crystal clutched in a dragon's claw atop the staff.
As soon as the light flooded the grove, the music stopped abruptly. Earwig looked up in surprise to see the red-hooded figure of the magician looming over him.
"Oh, hi, Raistlin!" The kender grinned.
"Earwig," said the mage softly, "I'm trying to sleep."
"Well, of course, you are, Raistlin," answered the kender. "It's the middle of the night."
"But I can't sleep, Earwig, because of the noise."
"What noise?" The kender looked around the campsite with interest.
Raistlin reached out his gold-skinned hand and snatched the pipe from Earwig's grasp. He held it up in front of the kender 's nose.
"Oh," said Earwig meekly. 'That noise."
Raistlin tucked the pipes into the sleeve of his robes, turned, and started back to his bed.
"I can play you a lullaby," suggested Earwig, leaping to his feet and trotting along behind the mage. "If you give me back my pipes, that is. Or I could sing one for you Ч "
Raistlin turned and stared at the kender. The firelight flickered in the hourglass eyes.
"Or maybe not," said Earwig, slightly daunted.
But a kender never stayed daunted for long. "It's really
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boring around here," he added, keeping up with the mage. "I thought being on night watch would be fun, and it was for a while, because I kept expecting something to jump out of the woods^and attack us since Caramon said that was why we had to keep watch, but nothing has jumped out and attacked us and it's really getting boring."
"Dulak" Raistlin whispered, starting to cough again. The light from the globe dimmed and died. The mage sank down onto his sleeping mat, his tired legs barely supporting him.
"Here, Raistlin, let me help you," offered Earwig, spreading out the blankets. The kender stood, gazing down at the mage hopefully. "Would you make the staff light up again, Raistlin?"
The mage hunched his thin body beneath the heavy quilt.
"Could I have my pipes back?"
Raistlin closed his eyes.
Earwig heaved a gusty sigh, his gaze going to the sleeve of the mage's robes into which he'd seen his pipes disappear.