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

CHAPTER ONE
445 Barovian Calendar, Barovia
The sun had set only moments before, but the door to the village hospice was
already closed fast and locked for the night. I gave it hardly a thought and
putting boot to wood kicked it open with a stunning crash. One or two people of
the dozen there yelped with terror as they all came to their feet, turning to
face me as I strode in. A few unconsciously made holy signs against me, but true
faith is now a rare thing in Barovia, so I felt little or nothing of it.
"Where is she?" I demanded.
They were already white-faced from my sudden appearance, for no one ventures out
after dark here, and anyone who does is exactly the sort one would not wish to
encounter. It was obvious no one wished to encounter me as my gaze swept over
them.
"If-if you please, your lordshipЧ" began one of the men, shaking from head to
toe as he came hesitantly forward, hands out in a placating manner.
This did not bode well. "I do not please. Where is she?"
His eyes rolled up in his head, and he fainted right at my feet.
With some disgust, for cowards have ever revolted me, I fixed my gaze on an
older woman behind him. "Where?"
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She left off wringing her hands and pointed,
trembling, at a curtained alcove at the far end of the long low building that
served as a communal shelter for the homeless in the village.
Tears. Gods and shadows together, pleaseЧnot again!
Five long steps and I was there, throwing the curtain back, staring down at what
was left of her.
Behind me some gasped; others sobbed, not in grief for her, certainly, but in
fear of what I would do to them.
For the moment I could do nothing, think nothing, as the all-too-familiar agony
washed over and through me once more. I stood unable to move for a very long
time, staring at her sweet face, her sweet lovely face in the final repose that
only the truly dead know.
In this life she had been known as Alina, an orphan raised with others in the
village. Her true name, though she had not known itЧnot known it until I had
come along and begun my courtship of herЧwas Tatyana. Finding her alive again
had been my greatest joy, awakening her hidden memories of her past life my
greatest pleasure.
I had fallen in love with her almost a hundred years ago when I had walked free
and breathing in the sunlight. She had been betrothed to my younger brother
Sergei, and thought herself in love with him until the night of their wedding,
the night when I had bargained away all that I had, all that I was, so that I
might have her for my own.
That night my brother had died by my hand, his blood running like living fire in
my veins. That night I had gone to her and touched her with true passion, given
her a glimpse of what real love could be, but in her inexperience the intensity
of it had frightened her, and she had retreated into the safe memory of Sergei.
She had run away. Some have said it was from me, because of what I had become,
but she had gone mad with grief from Sergei's death and threw herself from the
castle balcony which overlooked the valley below. It had been full of mist. I