"Simon R. Green - Deathstalker - 1 - Deathstalker" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Simon R)

The Shard and the Darkwind, locked together, cartwheeled slowly through the
silent night, falling toward Virimonde.

CHAPTER TWO
The Man Who Had Everything
The Deathstalker, Owen, Lord of Vuimonde, last of a famous warrior line, lay
naked and exhausted among the crumpled silk sheets of his bed and wondered
lazily if he could work up the strength to call for a tall iced drink. It was late in the
morning of another perfect day on the best of all possible worlds. The sun was
shining, what passed for birds on Virimonde were singing their little hearts out,
everyone was busy at their work, and he didn't have to leave his bed for ages yet if
he didn't feel like it. He sighed and stretched slowly and smiled the slow smug
smile of the truly satisfied. He'd just had amazing sex with his long-term mistress,
and when she got back from wherever she'd disappeared to, he fully intended to
do it all again. Practice makes perfect.

She wasn't really his mistress, in the sense that he didn't pay her a retainer or
anything, but he liked the ancient word, with its undertones of sin and debauchery.
He stretched again unhurriedly, content as a cat in the sun, staring up at the ceiling
high above. When he did finally choose to get up, his most recent history was

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Green, Simon R. - Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker (v1.0) (html)


waiting in the computers for him to take up work on it again. It was a good piece,
sharp and pointed and full of new insights. The kind of work he'd always known
he was capable of, if he could just get away from interfering distractions like
having to train with sword and gun every morning and study military tactics every
afternoon in order to be the warrior his line demanded of him. No one had ever
asked him if he wanted to be another bloody fighter like all this revered ancestors.
But that was all behind him now. His father was dead, he'd inherited the title, and
his life was his own at last. In short, he'd got it all. No doubt eventually he'd start
getting bored with such perfection in several years or so, but until then he was
determined to enjoy every minute of it. And why not? He was a nice guy; he
deserved it.

He looked around the huge stone chamber with its hanging tapestries and
centuries-old holos. The Deathstalker Standing hadn't changed outwardly in
generations. Every modern convenience was in place, ready to hand or call, but
expertly concealed behind the traditional overlay. The Standing had been the
home of the Deathstalker Clan for generations beyond counting, serving all their
various needs with calm efficiency. When Owen had bought the Lordship of
Virimonde, he'd had the entire castle dismantled, stone by stone, and had it and its
contents shipped to Virimonde, where it was reassembled surprisingly quickly by
a small army of fanatical experts. You can do things like that when you're a Lord.
The Standing was his, wherever he decided to plant his roots; all that was required
of him was that he preserve it and hold it in trust for future generations. Assuming
he ever got around to marrying and producing a next generation. His mistress was
a delightful sort, but not at all the kind of person one married. As head of one of