"Rawn, Melanie - Dragon Star 03 - Skybowl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

"It must be done, lord," the priest said firmly. "This is a >ource of the Azhrei's power. It must fall."
It has been burned to a crispЧwhat more do you want? he thought. What he said was, "And had you considered the demons that might still lurk within?"
The young face glowed with sunburn and fervor. "The Father of Storms will protect us."
"Had you noticed," he continued as if the priest had not spoken, "how the Dragon Sign is everywhere here?"
"We are being careful to eradicate all of them."
"I'm sure you are." He paused, knowing this must be phrased exactly right. They were all listening, even though they pretended not to; it was not the first time he had faced off with a priest, and this pompous little half-beard was beginning to annoy him.
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Melanie Rawn
"I'm puzzled," said the High Warlord, crossing his wrists casually on the pommel of his saddle. "If Stronghold is razed, will the Azhrei's power die?"
"No, he carries the taint and the sin with him. ButЧ"
"If all Dragon Sign is defaced, will the Azhrei's power die?"
"No, he will only call forth other dragons of his cursed Fire. ButЧ"
"My lord priest," he said with respectful curiosity, "how will we rid this land and the Father's Sacred Dragons of the Azhrei's power?"
"By killing the Azhrei himself, of course," came the impatient reply. "That is why we came to this horrible dead place where nothing grows because of the sins ofЧ"
It may be why you came, he thought. "Then why?" He swept an arm wide. "What does it gain but sore backs and crushed sword-hands?"
Someone coughed, and in the sound was amusement.
Plump cheeks turned redder above the scraggly beard. "It is necessary."
"I don't see why. It seems to me that killing the Azhrei's castle accomplishes very little, when killing the Azhrei himself would not only rid the dragons of his evil, but all the land and all its castles as well."
The priest's forehead congested with blood. "It is necessary," he repeated stubbornly.
You damned idiot! he wanted to shout. You're using up their strength that should be saved for battle, and for a stupid superstitionЧfor nothing!
"As you say," he remarked instead. "Tell me, for you have studied things I have not, what would be the source of power in this place?"
"The Dragon Signs." Suddenly he looked halfway intelligentЧand as if he wanted to cut out his own tongue for having fallen into the trap. It was tempting to offer him a knife to do it with.
The High Warlord continued, "Then perhaps if those were taken care of. this long and dangerous task of bringing the keep down around itself would not be necessary?"
The priest glanced around him. It was a terrible mistake. Not one face was to be seen, only bowed heads. But everyone knew he had searched for support; everyone knew his
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weakness as he realized that he was not the one who truly commanded here.
At least the fool knew when he was overmatched. "I hadn't thought of it that way. In my zealЧ"
"Чwhich is commendable," the High Warlord interrupted gently before the youngling could make an even bigger spectacle of himself. Authority had been established; humiliation was to be avoided. "You rejoice in the purity of your calling and the advantage of scholarship. I am only a warriorЧignorant of the deeper mysteries, too concerned with worldly things." He leaned down a little, as if wanting to speak confidentially. He could practically feel the hundreds sharpen their hearing on mental whetstones. "You know, I can't help thinking of their wives. Palms roughened by calluses of sword and shield are marks of honor, but very different from those left by working stone. These would not be pleasing to a woman's pride as a wifeЧor to her skin. And there are times when even the Father of Winds cannot howl as loudly as an angry woman."
No one dared even clear his throat this time.
The priest shifted his legsЧbetween which there was lacking certain equipment essential to conjugal relationsЧ and shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes we priests forget the more practical and, as you say, worldly considerations."
"You are fortunate to be able to do so," he replied with good humor. "The Dragon Signs, thenЧand we shall see how it affects the power of this Azhrei who is steeped in sin."
The priest drew himself up proudly. "And when shall he steep in his own blood?" he challenged.
He supposed he was owed that, after the rebuke. "The vision was a true one. It shall be done when the ritual is completed."
"You are making plans to that end?"
He wished he knew where the deadfalls were at Stronghold; he would take significant pleasure in pushing the priest into one.
"I am." He raised his head to the Flametower. "You might start up there. Dragons sleep atop every one of those pointed windows."
Turning his horse, he rode from Stronghold. Out in the Desert once more, he gave in to impulse and urged the stallion to a gallop across the sand, far from the idiots he must suffer for his greater purpose.
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Melanie Rawn
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He knew the priests were restless. It was their customary condition, and did not trouble him overmuch. But this matter of the Desert castles was irksome. The priests wanted so much to obliterate at least one.
It hadn't been necessary to forbid the destruction of Radzyn and Whitecliff; the priests had seized on their luxuries gladly. Remagev survived because the old Azhrei had fled itЧand the traps inside were too numerous to risk. The priests had grumbled at that, but all he'd had to do was comment that anyone willing to brave the spells left behind was welcome to do so for the glory of his clan. Faolain Riverport mattered nothing to him. It was too new to be of importance. The Merida had demolished and burned Tuath Castle, forgetting all the subtlety of their origins in their passionate vengeance. As assassins, the only token of their existence was the broken glass knife left in a victim's heart. But as conquerors, they became as children smashing a coveted toy for spite.
Feruche mattered little, except that it now sheltered the Azhrei. And her. he reminded himself, reining in to gaze out at the empty vastness of her Desert. She was why he wanted Stronghold to remain standing. If the Storm Father was good to him, he would be able to see her, perhaps even touch her, before the ending. If circumstances were different, he would have named her as the prize, not the new Azhrei's wife. But things were as they were, and in fact he was glad that she would not be in the charge of the priests.
Although, he told himself with an inner grin, it would have been a wonder and an education to see.
Turning, he saw the sun balance atop the Flametower. Soon it would glow through the topmost chamber, almost as if the old Azhrei's fire still burned.
It did not. The young one's Fire would never be lit. Eventually he would leave Feruche and they would face each other in battle at last. And then, after the victory, the true prize would be taken.
Skybowl.
Andry let Evarin sleep himself out. When the young man finally woke on his own at midmorning, hot taze and toasted bread and cheese were waiting for him. The physician ate,