"03 - The Stricken Field 1.0." - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

me, it was a mistake! I had no idea the idiots would put you in a cell! `Find
him,' I said. I meant that you needed help! I never intended that you should be
thrown in jail, old friend!"
"I am as well as could be expected, your Highness!" The imposter shook his head
sadly, disbelievingly. "Come and sit down."
He led the way over to a green kidskin sofa. Umpily eased himself onto it
circumspectly. Fabric strained, but held. His waistband tightened like a
tourniquet. The disguised Emthoro settled at his side, studying his visitor with
obvious concern.
"Perhaps you'd better tell me exactly what you believe." Gods! It was Shandie to
the life-an ordinary-looking, serious young man, with nothing remarkable about
him except a burning intensity in his dark imp eyes.
"Believe?" Umpily said. "What I know of the truth, you mean?"
The imposter nodded. Shandie never wasted words, either.
"You were ... his Majesty was sitting on the Opal Throne when word came of your,
er, his grandfather's death. We were rehearsing the enthronement. The warden of
the north appeared and warned you, him . . ." Umpily went through the story,
struggling to believe that even sorcery could produce so perfect a likeness.
Eyes, mouth, voice ... The telling was unnecessary, but he kept talking,
describing how North and West had acknowledged the new imperor, but South and
East had not appeared at all. The destruction of the four thrones, the meeting
with King Rap of Krasnegar and with Warlock Raspnex again, the escape to the Red
Palace and then to the boat ... It was old history, months old. The enemy must
already know far more than he did.
As he talked, Umpily was surprised to realize that he had another listener, back
in the shadows. Someone was sitting in the blue silk armchair to his left,
although he had been certain that there was no one else present when he came in.
He glanced quickly that way, but the chair was empty. He was quite alone with
the incredibly convincing imposter. An odd trick of the light ...
When the tale was done, the fake Shandie shook his head sadly.
"I knew it must be something like that. Shall I tell you what really happened?"
"Er ... Please do." The vague half-seen shape was back in the comer of Umpily's
vision again. If he looked directly at the blue armchair, it was empty.
The imperor sprang up and began to pace. "Ever since Emine set up the Protocol,
three thousand years ago, the wardens have ruled the world. Witches and
warlocks, the Four have been the power behind the Imperial throne, correct?"
Umpily nodded. The real Shandie would not move around like that when he talked.
He sat still always, inhumanly still.
"It is a terrible evil!"
"Evil, your Maj ... your Highness?"
The imposter paused to look at him with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged and
continued his restless pacing. "Yes, evil. If it is not evil, why does the
Impire rule only part of Pandemia and not all of it? We have a stable,
prosperous civilization. The outlying races are for the most part primitive, or
even barbarous. They fight among themselves and between themselves, constantly.
Time and again we have tried to take the benefits of enlightened rule to the
lesser breeds. At some times and in some places we have succeeded-but only for a
while. Always we have been driven out again, although we have the greatest
mundane military power, and the greatest occult resources, also, in the Four.
This does not make sense, does it? Do you not see? Ostensibly the Four's job is