"Paul S. Kemp - Erevis Cale 1 - Twilight Falling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kemp Paul S)

"You wanted me here, mage, and here I am. What you got? A side job?"
A side jobтАФwork beneath the attention of the Zhent leadership that an operative might do on his own
time to fill his own pockets rather than the coffers of the organization.
"Of a sort," Vraggen replied, being deliberately vague.
That was mundane enough that it seemed to relax Norel. He leaned forward, an eager gleam in his dark
eyes.
"Let's hear it then."
Vraggen folded his hands on the table and looked Norel in the face. The Zhent's initial response to
Vraggen's next words would be important.
"There's a war brewing in the Network, Norel. It's time each of us picked a side and fought. Do you see
that?"
Norel's eyes narrowed. He probably was still stuck on the idea of an ordinary side job. It took a moment
for him to redirect his thoughts.
"War? You meanтАФ" His eyes went to Vraggen's brass cloak pin, in the shape of a jawless skull in a
sunburst, and his expression showed understanding. "You mean what I think you mean?"
Vraggen nodded but added nothing. He wanted to let Norel's thoughts run their course.
Norel's gaze returned to the pin, returned to Vraggen. The Zhent's thoughts were writ plain on his face.
Bane, the god of tyranny, had returned to Faerun and the resurgent Banites were in the process of retaking
their historic place amongst the Zhent leadership. The Cyricists, who had murdered many Banites while
seizing power in the Network, found themselves the target of the Banites' vengeance. An internal schism
had rent the organization. Mostly it was fought in the shadows with poison, assassinations, and the like, but
of late, the Banites had grown confident, and the murders of Cyricists had become public and ritualized.
Message-killings, really. Vraggen had heard that message and heeded it. That was why he'd left Selgaunt in
search of the globe.
But Norel knew none of that, or little anyway. Like most Zhents who were not in positions of leadership,
Norel wanted to stay neutral and weather the religious storm. But that day was past. Either he would side
with Vraggen or he would die.
Ultimately, Vraggen planned to retake the Network with his own private war on the Banite leadership.
For that, he needed soldiersтАФZhents without loyalty to the Banites, Zhents like NorelтАФand power. He was
in the process of gathering both. The risks were high, but if he were successful he would have taken the
first step in eliminating the Banites from the Zhentarim. Surely Cyric would reward such a coup.
He returned his thoughts to Norel and asked, "Well?"
"Well? Dark and empty, man! Are you mad? It hasn't been a war. It's been a slaughter."
Vraggen could not deny it, though hearing Norel say it aloud brought a flash of rage. It had been a
slaughter, at least so far. Cyric was culling his flock of the weak, Vraggen supposed. Unfortunate, but
necessary.
Norel, warming to the subject, went on, "I mean, I haven't seen a priest of Cyric on a job for over a
month. Not one that was alive at the end of it, at least."
Vraggen bit back the impulse to smack the smugness from Norel's face, and said, "I'm not a priest,
Norel."
Norel's eyes flashed fear. He looked into Vraggen's face, only for an instant, and looked away.
"No. I guess you're not. But you're still a mad bastard. Seeking a fight with the Banites is ... is ..." He
stuttered, obviously struggling for the right word, and finally settling on the rather unimpressive and
repetitive, "... is madness."
Vraggen sighed and decided to give Norel one more chance.
"Consider the rewards, Norel. If I'mтАФif we'reтАФsuccessful, imagine the power, the wealth. What's your
take per job, now? A twentieth?"
Norel nodded slowly.
"I'm prepared to double that. Think about it. A tenth."
Vraggen could be free with promises of coin because wealth meant nothing to him. This was to be a