"Elrod, P N - I, Strahd 2 - War Against Azalin e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

half in hope and half in dread of what I would find.
All my glorious expectations, all my optimism for the future lay dead before me.
Dust and ashes.
The older woman hesitantly came near. I finally looked up at her.
"How?" I asked. My voice was hardly more than a whisper.
"She woke this morning with a fever, lord. I'm the healer for the village, and
they called me right away, knowing you would wish it."
"A fever?"
"It did not seem too serious; I gave her my usual herbs for such things, but
there was no improvement by noon. I questioned her whether she'd eaten anything
to upset her or had been bitten by an insect. Sometimes when the stingflies are
bad they can bring on a mild sickness, but this was like nothing I'd ever seen
before."
"Go on."
"She worsened as the afternoon wore on, became delirious. I sent several of the
lads up the mountain to bring down ice to cool her, but nothing helped. She
slipped away about an hour ago. I am sorry."
I closed my eyes a moment to deal with the latest wave of pain. "Did-did she say
anything about me?"
"No. She said the name Sergei a few times, but we don't know who he is. No one
here is called that."
Another wave. Worse than before.
I mastered it after a time, but knew I would have to leave soon before the real
reaction took me.
But I would not leave alone.
No one made a single protest as I gathered her limp form to my breast and
carried her out into the night.
I inhaled as I walked steadily from the village, scenting a charnel house taint
to the air. It seemed to grow thicker, more noxious the farther I went, but
breathing was not a necessity for me any more. I pressed on, holding her gently
in my arms.
High above, black clouds began to gather, roiling and restless as if in response
to my inner torment. They blotted out the dying moon, erased the stars. None of
their light reached the ground, but I continued regardless, unimpeded by such
mundane limits. I walked on, climbing, taking a thin path up the mountain that
towered over the village, perhaps the same one used by the lads to bring back
ice for her.
All for naught.
Though the storm above kept building, no wind touched us. Here below was
silence. When I paused once to look back, I saw why.
Mist. Thick, featureless and altogether unnatural. It was also climbing up the
mountain, gradually, but would soon overtake us.
I hurried forward, upward, until my arms and legs burned with the constant
effort of it.
The air began to change. The death stench started to clear away, replaced by the
clean smell of mountain air and snow. Wind touched my face, plucking at my cloak
and the trailing hem of her night dress.
Faster, higher until I had to make my own path up the rocky face.
Snow, first a thin dusting, then more and more until it was nearly to my knees.
I would not let it slow me and fought its clinging grip.