"Katherine Kurtz & Scott MacMillan - Knights of the Blood 2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

actions might have appeared since then to an outsider, John Drummond
was certain of one thing: the so-called "Vampire Slayings" he now knew
to have been committed in Los Angeles by Father Francis Freise more
than two decades ago would go "unsolved" as far as Drummond was
concerned. In the light of what he had experienced in the past week or
two, Freise's killings took on the look of justifiable homicideтАФ
eliminating a very real evil from modern society.
As to the vampiresтАФboth those who now acted as his hosts at Schloss
Marbourg and those who had escaped into the woodsтАФDrummond was
unsure how to proceed. That first day, after Kluge, his Nazi vampires, and
their punker cohorts had stormed Schloss Marbourg, he had been utterly
convinced, along with Freise, of the need to hunt down and destroy Kluge,
De Beq and his men had been less convinced at firstтАФbow could
medieval knights, isolated from history for nearly seven hundred years,
hope to cope with a world they had long since ceased to know? Yet the
knights, indirectly, had been responsible for Kluge becoming a vampire;
they were the logical ones to help stop him now. So strongly had
Drummond become convinced of that, and of the absolute necessity to see
Kluge destroyed, he had even agreed to become one of themтАФto become
a Knight of the Sword.
Even now, Drummond was uncertain just how full a commitment he
had made to the knights. It had been six days since Father Freise served
him the Communion of the Knights, and yet, unlike the others, he had not
yet developed the blood hunger of the vampires.
Perhaps it took longer to develop than de Beq remembered, he thought.
De Beq had been vaguely certain that the transformation would take only
a day or two at the most. But nearly a week had passed and while
Drummond's appetite had returned, it was a tuna-melt and iced tea that he
craved the most.
Having had to satisfy tonight's hunger with ill-cooked mutton and
potatoes and brown bread, Drummond pushed back his wooden trencher
and turned to Father Freise. They were in the great hall of the knights'
castle, seated at one end of a long trestle table near the large fireplace. At
the other end of the table, several of the knights were clustered around
their Master, Henri de Beq, glancing occasionally in Drummond's
direction as they talked in low voices. Drummond had agonized over his
decision, but he knew he had no other real choice.
"Frank," he said, "I've been thinking."
"Careful," Freise said lightly. "You've got a head wound."
"No, really. I've given this a lot of thought in the last few days, and I've
decided I'm going back to L.A."
Father Freise looked up from his dinner and stared at Drummond for a
few seconds before answering. He did not look like a man in his mid-
seventies, but his appearance of youthfulness came from an altogether
different source than that of the men at the other end of the hall.
"I can't say that I'm surprised, John," he said quietly, "though I did
hope you'd stay and help us with the fight against Kluge."
"Oh, I'll help," Drummond said. "It's just that there are a lot of loose
ends I have to tie up first." He picked up his mug of ale and took a deep
drink before continuing. "Besides, we need a lot more information before