"Alan Dean Foster - Catechist 2 - Into The Thinking Kingdom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

him. He preferred light to the hands of human servitors. The feathery touch of commandeered glow

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 Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2

would not pinch him, or forget to do up a button, or scratch against his neck. It would never choose the
wrong undergarments or lose track of a valuable pin or necklace. And light would never try to stick a
poisoned dagger into his back, twisting it fiercely, slicing through nerve and muscle until rich red
Hymneth blood gushed forth over the polished tile of the floor, staining the bedposts and ruining the
invaluable rugs fashioned from the flayed coats of rare, dead animals.

So what if the digits of congealed yellow light reminded his attendants not of agile, proficient fingers but
coveys of sallow, diseased worms writhing and twisting as they coiled and probed about his person?
ServantsтАЩ flights of torpid imagination did not concern him.

While the silken undergarments caressed his body, the luxurious outer raiment transformed him into a
figure of magnificence fit to do sartorial battle with the emperor birds-of-paradise. The horned helmet of
chased steel and the red-and-purple cloak contributed mightily to the plenary image of irresistible power
and majesty. Seven feet tall fully dressed, he was ready to go out among his people and seek the balm of
their benison.

The pair of griffins who lived out their lives chained to the outside of his bedroom door snapped to
attention as he emerged, their topaz cat eyes flashing. He paused a moment to pet first one, then the
other. Watchdogs of his slumber, they would rip to pieces anyone he did not escort or beckon into the
inner sanctum in person. They could not be bribed or frightened away, and it would take a small army to
overpower them. As he departed, they settled back down on their haunches, seemingly returning to rest
but in reality preternaturally alert and awake as always.

Peregriff was waiting for him in the antechamber, seated at his desk. After a quick glance at the two pig-
sized black clouds that trailed behind the sorcerer, he rose from behind his scrolls and papers.

тАЬGood morning, Lord.тАЭ

тАЬNo it is not.тАЭ Hymneth halted on the other side of the desk. тАЬI have not been sleeping well.тАЭ

тАЬI am sorry to hear that, Lord.тАЭ Behind the ruddy cheeks and neatly trimmed white beard, the eyes of the
old soldier were blue damascened steel. Nearly six and a half feet tall and two hundred and twenty
pounds of still solid muscle, Peregriff could take up the saber and deal with a dozen men half his age.
Only Hymneth he feared, knowing that the Possessed could take his life with a few well-chosen words
and the flick of one chain-mailed wrist. So the ex-general served, and made himself be content.

тАЬStrange dreams, Peregriff. Indistinct oddities and peculiar perturbations.тАЭ

тАЬPerhaps a sleeping potion, Lord?тАЭ

Hymneth shook his head peevishily. тАЬIтАЩve tried that. This particular dream is not amenable to the usual
elixirs. Something convoluted is going on.тАЭ Straightening, he took a deep breath and, as he exhaled, the

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 Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2