"David Gemmell - Sipstrassi Tales 01 - Wolf In Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

I focused on the typewriter keys and typed the following sentences....
The rider paused at the crest of a wooded hill, and gazed down at the wide, rolling empty lands
beneath him. There was no sign of Jerusalem...
The walls of the mind came crashing in as I typed the word Jerusalem, thoughts, fears and regrets
spilling over one another, fighting for space. There followed a bad hour, which even Armagnac
could not ease.
But after midnight I returned to the page and stared down at it. It called out to me. Who is he, I
thought? What is he looking for, this Jerusalem Man?
And suddenly he was there. Tall and gaunt, seeking a city that had ceased to exist three hundred
years before. A lonely, tortured man on a quest with no ending, riding through a world of
savagery and barbarism.
The story flowed in an instant, and I wrote until after the dawn.
Through all the despair that followed in those next painful months I found a sanctuary in the
company of Jon Shannow. Through his eyes I could see the world clearly, and understand how
important it is to be strong in the broken places.
As a result Shannow will always be one of my favourite characters.
For a while back there he was the best friend I'd ever had.



David A. Gemmell Hastings, 1995
 PROLOGUE


The High Priest lifted his bloodstained hands from the corpse and dipped them in a silver bowl
filled with scented water. The blood swirled around the rose petals floating there, darkening them
and glistening like oil. A young acolyte moved to kneel before the King, his hands outstretched.
The King leaned forward, placing a large oval stone in his palms. The stone was red-gold, and
veined with thick black streaks. The acolyte carried the stone to the corpse, laying it on the
gaping wound where the girl's heart had been. The stone glowed, the red-gold gleaming like an
eldritch lantern, the black veins shrinking to fine hairlines. The acolyte lifted the stone once
more, wiped it with a cloth of silk and returned it to the King before backing away into the
shadows.
A second acolyte approached the High Priest, bowing low. In his arms he held the red ceremonial
cape which he lifted over the priest's bald head.
The King clapped his hands twice and the girl's body was lifted from the marble altar and carried
down the long hall to oblivion.
'Well, Achnazzar?' demanded the King.
'As you can see, my lord, the girl was a powerful ESPer, and her essence will feed many Stones
before it fades.'
'The death of a pig will feed a Stone, priest. You know what I am asking,' said the King, fixing
Achnazzar with a piercing glare. The bald priest bowed low, keeping his eyes on the marble
floor.
'The omens are mostly good, sire.'
'Mostly? Look at me!' Achnazzar raised his head, steeling himself to meet the burning eyes of the
Satanlord. The priest blinked and tried to look away, but Abaddon's glare held him trapped,
almost hypnotized. 'Explain yourself.'
The invasion, Lord, should proceed favorably in the Spring. But there are dangers . . . not great
dangers,' he added hurriedly.
'From which area?'