"David Freer - The Forlorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Freer Dave)

the librarians' idea of black magic look like a Sunday School outing.

There were a few people out there who knew Keilin, but he'd never trusted anyone enough to reveal his
hideout to them. He was safe enough here, but if he ventured out . . . well, there were always eyes in the
alleys. Sooner or later someone would see him, and then the hunt would be on. He'd never make it back.
In the old town alone there were at least a thousand men, and women too, for that matter, who'd slit his
throat for a single gold piece, never mind five hundred.

He tried to concentrate on his book again, holding it up to the light coming through the holes he'd made.
It was no use. He couldn't divert his mind from Kemp's plot. Hatred twisted at his gut. He'd never killed
anyone before, but if he could get that man alone somewhere . . . Still, it was no use dreaming. He must
get out, survive, then, one day he could come back and do a little quiet and nasty repayment.

Keilin knew little of the world outside the walls of the port. He'd come here, a fugitive from another
dimly remembered city, when he was about seven. He remembered sneaking off the ship in the pale
dawn, with his mother. He remembered watching, puzzled and uncomfortable, as his mother had "paid"
the bosun for smuggling them off the ship. He remembered in the grim years that followed, as her
addiction grew deeper, how his discomfort and resentment had given way to resignation and then
acceptance. He stretched his mind back further to misty memories of the city they'd lived in before
reaching Port Tinarana. He could remember the sergeant of the Caravan Guards, but not his face.

The boy shuddered. His mind wouldn't let him remember the face. That had been the first time he'd
heard the whining sounds. The caravaneer had been a kindly man when he was sober. He'd had Keilin's
mother teach the boy to read, and been proud of his stepson's cleverness. He'd started to teach him to
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




use a sword. He'd tried to teach Keilin to swim, and kept Keilin spellbound by telling him tales of far-off
places. If only Keilin could remember more of them, but most of it was lost in the vagueness of early
childhood . . . But he could remember clearly how the man had changed into a vicious brute when he was
drunk.

He'd beaten Keilin's mother . . . slapped her about, humiliated her, called her a whore and far worse.
Well, she'd had little option once he'd died, but back then it had been untrue. Keilin hadn't even known
what it meant then. The man had beaten Keilin, too. That had been bearable. It was when he'd tried to
take Keilin's pendant that it had all happened. Firstly, his mother had flown to Keilin's aid, screaming like
a fishwife, beating ineffectually at the big man. And Keilin remembered his own anger and fear, and the
coldness of the amulet. It was his! It was all he had of his father. Hisreal father. Nobody, but nobody,
would take it from him. He'd clung to the dark jewel with all his strength. His stepfather could have
jewels, other jewels, nothis ! He remembered how the flying tray of baubles had appeared out of
nowhere. He remembered crawling away, and the eerie whine. He hadn't been scared of it, back then. It
had just seemed strange.

Then he'd been knocked sideways by the drunken man clumsily and greedily sprawling after the stones.
And the blast of purple fire meant for Keilin had blown away his stepfather's face. He'd run as fast as his
little legs could carry him, squalling in terror. When he came cautiously back, his mother hastily gathered
him up, with some of the stones, and fled to buy passage for them on an outbound freighter. She would
never tell him just what she'd seen that had frightened her into this headlong flight. It never occurred to