"Rawn, Melanie - Dragon Star 2 - Dragon Token" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

She flinched as Elisel whimpered from outside the open windows. The dragon was still out there, swooping down again and again to cry out to SionedЧwho didn't even hear her.

"Knives and so forth?" Meath asked impatiently. "Yes, of course, butЧ" "Give me one." "Meath, I don't understЧ"

He rummaged inside the coffer himself, careless of the neatly arranged pots and jars, and came up with a horn-handled blade, fine and delicate. Then he crossed the crimson-patterned carpet to the bed. Taking one of Sioned's elbows, he pushed up the sleeve and dragged the blade across her forearm. Slowly. Deliberately. Watching the blood well up. Hearing her scream in agonyЧechoed by the dragon outside.

"Stop it?" Meath yelled at Sioned. "Stop it nowr

"Meath! No!" Chayla leapt for him, knowing it was foolish to pit herself against his great size and strength. He shouldered her away and she fell onto the rug. More stunned than hurt, she watched, horrified, as he held the stained blade up to Sioned's face, before her open eyes.

"Sioned! Do you hear me? Stop it or I'll cut you again!"

Wings beat so near that the bed curtains and even the heavy wall tapestries fluttered. In the mirror opposite the windows, Chayla saw a brief glimpse of a dragon's face, jaws open in a moan that trembled through the room.

She heard a muffled exclamation and turned, sobbing with relief at seeing her father. "Papa! Make him stop!"

"No! Stay away!" Meath warned, still holding the blood-damp knife in front of Sioned. "I'll do it!" he snarled. "Unless you stop right now, I'll cut you again, I swear it!"

"Papa!" Clutching at her father's arm, she begged, "Please, pleaseЧ"

"No. Wait."

Sioned was glaring at Meath as he brought the knife down once more, scraping another thin line parallel to the first. The cry that tore from her throat was of pain, but also of despair. She buried her face in her hands and wept as if her heart had broken.

Outside in the night, a dragon cried out one last time.

Meath flung the knife down and cradled Sioned in his arms. Meeting Maarken's eyes, he said a single word.

"Steel."

*

By the time he got through the gates to the inner ward, the Fire was dead.

The darkness was so abrupt and so total that his guts churned within him. Shame stiffened his spine. He drew a deep breath and waited for his eyes to adjust. Humiliation stung him anew when he remembered the tinderbox in his pocket, and yet again when his hands shook so

badly that he dropped it. At last a tiny flame lit the night, and he told himself it was a very good thing that he had come here alone. No one seeing the High Warlord in this state could be allowed to live.

But as he looked around, he discovered that not even the stallion had seen him. Amusement and chagrin lifted a corner of his mouth as he inspected the knotted ends of the reins, still attached to the iron hinge and neatly bitten through. Truly those Radzyn horses were the spawn of Wind Devils.

The hem of his tunic was smoldering. He took off the garment and rolled it around his sword to make a crude torch. It wouldn't last long, but perhaps he would find something within Stronghold to light his way. His trousers were singed, too, and very nearly to the groin. He managed a weak smile for his wives' relief at his escape, and started for the castle steps.

By the Father of Water, so much stone! He stood in the vast entry chamber, mouth agape in genuine awe. He hadn't realized what it would feel like, to be in the middle of it. His own keep boasted more stone than any other in all the Islands, as was fitting, but every hand-span of it would not have built even this staircase.

He walked to the huge open doors of the Great Hall and looked within. The windows had blown out and the blue-and-green tiles had splintered in the heat. The hundreds of lamps set high on the walls had melted to shapeless lumps of metal. The lack of wood ash on the floor puzzled him for a moment until he realized that this room must have been used as a sleeping chamber; probably the tables and benches had been stacked elsewhere.

What a magnificent place this had beenЧtruly a place for princes. Not even Radzyn, mighty as it was, had affected him this way. But his makeshift torch was burning too quickly, and he must find some other light soon. There were many things he wished to see.

The kitchens would be convenient to the Great Hall. Perhaps there was some grease or oil to soak the cloth. He started across the cracked tiles that crunched beneath his boots. Suddenly he stopped, hearing a sound that