"Farland, David - Runelords 5 - Sons of the Oak (v1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farland David)

TOR BOOKS BY DAVID FARLAND
The Runelords
Brotherhood of the Wolf
Wizardbom
The Lair of Bones
Sons of the Oak
Worldbinder

SONS OF THE OAK
DAVID FARLAND
TOR
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK
I

NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
SONS OF THE OAK
Copyright й 2006 by David Farland
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Edited by David G. Hartwell
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Torо is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-4108-2 ISBN-10:0-7653-4108-5
First Edition: November 2006
First Mass Market Edition: September 2007
Printed in the United States of America

To Rick and Amy White, with gratitude for their friendship and support through a difficult time

SONS OF THE OAK

24 PROLOGUE SS
Asgaroth sent his consciousness across the stars, past nebuмlae of flaming gases, past black holes that sucked in all matмter, beyond galaxies dying and gone cold, until he stood upon me broken remnants of the One True World before his master, Shadoath.
She appeared to him as a goddess of shadow, a petite woman, sleek and elegant, her supple limbs the very definiмtion of grace, raven hair cascading down bare shoulders, her smooth skin as flawless as perfect virtue, her lips so red that blood would envy it.
A shadow slanted across her face, hiding her features, but her eyes sparkled like black diamonds.
She sat upon a marble dais in a garden, with trees twisting up like mick serpents, their dark leaves hissing in a hint of wind, while among them sweet doves sang their night songs.
In the hollows among the trees stood her guardians, those who worshipped her, those whose love enslaved them. Once, in a previous life, Asgaroth had grown a cancer on his shoulмder. For weeks a fevered hump had amassed, swelling so quickly mat he could almost watch it. He knew that it would kill him in time, and had watched it with morbid dispassion, until finally one day the skin above it had grown so taut that it could no longer hold, and a rip appeared. From out of it he saw the cancer: a grotesque fleshy head with a mouthful of crooked teem, a single milky eye, and some ragged hair.
He had looked upon it with dispassion, laughing. "It is my true self revealed at last!" he'd whispered.
But those who guarded Shadoath were more twisted still, mere humps of flesh with crooked backs that surely could not attain higher thought. They seemed to sprout heads and arms almost at random. He saw one that had three full hands budding from a single arm, yet it held a silver scimitar in

one of those hands with expertness, its swollen fingers like red claws wrapped painfully about the hilt.
Shadoath watched him approach with dispassion. They had spoken countless times before, over the millions of milмlions of years.
"Mistress," Asgaroth whispered. "The torch-bearer has chosen a new form."
Asgaroth showed her a vision of Queen Iome Sylvarresta, her womb swelling with new life, a spirit shining like a fallen star beneath the flesh.
Shadoath showed no emotion. It had been ages since this torch-bearer had last shown himself. He had been in hiding, for centuries, purifying himself, firming his resolve.