"Maggie Furey - Shadowleague 1 - The Heart of Myrial" - читать интересную книгу автора (Furey Maggie)

Blade knew it. Though he had never seen the weather-beaten, hard-faced
Commander of the Godswords break into a genuine smile, he thought he
could detect a spark of triumph in the warriorтАЩs glacial grey eyes. Blade was
no foolтАФhe had a mind like a steel trap. He had already deduced that Zavahl
must die. His next, barbed comment only served to confirm the fact.
тАЬExcuse me, Hierarch, I wonтАЩt take up any more of your precious time.тАЭ
With that, he turned on his heel and left the Temple, the brisk beat of his
footsteps echoing in that vast vaulted space.
Zavahl watched him go, praying, in a burst of spiteful rage, that Myrial
would strike the bastard dead. That prayer, however, brought the same result
as all the others he had made over the last few months. Nothing. And time
was running out fast. Two days. That was all he had. Without a miracle, the
Hierarch was marked as a dead man.


In the doorway of the Temple, Lord Blade paused to glance back at Zavahl.
The Hierarch stood in the shadows, unmoving, his shoulders slumped in
weary defeat. Though it was probably unwise to taunt him, Blade found the
temptation impossible to resist. After all, he was safe enough. You poor,
pathetic fool, the Godsword Commander thought. YouтАЩll never know why
your world has fallen apart. From his pocket, he brought out a golden ring
with a large, red stone that glittered and glowed even in the dull half-light of
this rainy day. It looked to be an exact duplicate of the HierarchтАЩs ringтАФbut
it was not. The replica was on ZavahlтАЩs finger. You wonтАЩt get an answer
from your god without this, my friend, Blade thought. If you really want to
know why youтАЩve fallen from MyrialтАЩs favor, you only have to look this way.
He dropped the precious ringтАФthe trigger for the artifact that was MyrialтАЩs
EyeтАФback into his pocket and, smiling to himself, went on his way.




CHAPTER 2

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THE HEART OF MYRIAL - SHADOWLEAGUE 1 - MAGGIE FUREY




Gendival


The broad lower reaches of the Valley of Two Lakes were steeped in peace,
basking in the clear early-morning sunlight. Near the clustered grey-stone
buildings and the high, round spire of the Tower of Tidings, the Lower Lake
glimmered bright and joyous as a newborn soul, spangled with ripples from
leaping trout and sparked with the bright plumage of the waterfowl that
thronged the reedy brink. Shimmering dragonflies hovered and darted on the
warm breeze that whispered through groves of ancient oak and venerable