"Barbara Hambly - Windrose 1 - The Silent Tower" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hambly Barbara)

"No," Dr. Skipfrag agreed and thoughtfully stared into the witchlight that hung
above the tabletop for a moment. He reached out absentmindedly toward it and
pinched it, like a man pinching out a candle-his forefinger and thumb went straight
through the white seed of light in the glowing ball's heart, the black shadows of his
fingers swinging in vast, dark bars across the low rafters of the ceiling and the
book-lined walls. "Interesting," he murmured. "Not even a change in temperature."
His blue eyes returned to Salteris. "And that's odd in itself, isn't it?"
Salteris nodded, understanding. Caris, standing quietly in a corner, as was the
place of a sasennan, was very glad when Lady Rosamund demanded, "Why? Few
believe in our powers these days." There was bitter contempt in her voice. "They
work in their factories or their shops and they would rather believe that magic did not
exist, if they can't use it to tamper with the workings of the universe for their personal
convenience."
Softly, the Archmage murmured, "That is as it should be."
The deep lines around Skipfrag's eyes darkened and moved with his smile.
"No," he said. "Most of them don't even believe in the dog wizards, you know. Or
they half believe them, or go to them in secret-the dog wizards, the charlatans, the
quacks, who never learned true magic because they would not take Council vows, so
all they can do is brew love-philters and cast runes in some crowded shop that stinks
of incense, or at most be like Magister Magus, hanging around the fringes of the
Court and hoping to get funding to turn lead into gold. Why do you think the Church's
Witchfinders don't arrest them for working magic outside the Council vows? They
only serve to feed the people's disbelief, and that is what the Witchfinders want.
"But the Regent . . ." He shook his head.
Through the tall, narrow windows at the far end of the room, standing open in
the murky summer heat, the sounds of the awakening city could now be heard. Caris
identified automatically the brisk tap of butchers' and poulterers' wagons hastening to
their early rounds, the dismal singsong of an itinerant noodle vendor, and the clatter
of farm carts coming to the city markets with the morning's produce. Dawn was
coming, high and far off over the massive granite city; the smell of the river and the
salt scent of the harbor came to him, with the distant mewing of the harbor birds. At
the other end of the table, Salteris was listening in ophidian silence. Aunt Min had
every appearance of having fallen asleep.
Skipfrag sighed, and his oak chair creaked a little as he stirred his bulk. "I was
his Majesty's friend for many years," he said quietly. "You know, Salteris, that he was
always a friend to the mages, for all he held them at an arm's length for political
reasons. He believed-else he would never have raised the army that helped you defeat
the Dark Mage Suraklin."
Salteris did not move, but the witchlight flickered with the movement of his
dark eyes, and something of his attitude reminded Caris of a dozing hound waked at
an unfamiliar footfall.
"Pharos' hatred of you is more than disbelief," Skipfrag went on quietly. "He
blames you for his father's madness."
Lady Rosamund waved a dismissive hand. "He was hateful from his boyhood
and suspicious of everything."
"Perhaps so," Salteris murmured. "But it is also true that, of late, the Regent's
antipathy toward us has grown to a mania. He may fear me too much to move against
me openly-but it is possible that he would send an assassin." His dark eyes went to
Skipfrag. "Can you find out for me at Court?"
The physician thought for a moment, then nodded. "I think so. I still have