"Lackey, Mercedes - Bedlam's Bard 01 - Knights of Ghosts and Shadows (with Ellen Guon) 1.4" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

Green light?

He felt a chill run down his back; a thrill of wonder and expectationЧthen his good sense kicked in and brought him right down to earth again. Probably some Faire kids playing Jedi Knight with lightsticks on the hillside. And scaring the local rattlesnakes half to death, I'm sure. Don't they know that no one is supposed to go up into the hills? B'Jaysus. Where in hell are their parents?

He looked down at the flute, still cradled in his hands. I wish I had a tape of that. Damn. I'll probably never play like that, ever again.

Eric took the flute apart, moving carefully in the dark, replacing each piece in the case by feel. There were times when he loved that instrument more than any human. He wouldn't play any better than that tonight, and he wasn't going to try.

He stood up, dusting off his jeans. Might as well call it a night. I've got that bottle of Irish back at camp, and I think this is a good time to start on it. A real good time.

Eric felt his way to the edge of the grove, walking with care to avoid tripping over anything, then glanced back. Something gleamed among the oak trees, another glistening trace of pale green light, as verdant and alive as spring leaves. It swirled right where he'd been sitting for a moment, then vanished. It reappeared a heartbeat later, half-hidden behind a sprawling oak tree, then faded again.

Kids. I wonder if they're playing at saving the universe? Must be too young to realize that you can't.

He headed down the dirt road towards his campsite.

Eric managed to avoid meeting anyone by carefully planning his route, but it took a lot of detours. He was tired and footsore by the time he reached the camping area, and feeling the effects of the long and stressful day inside and outside.

An hour later, Eric was tumbled in his sleeping bag in a faded blue tent that had seen too many Faires, groping for his bottle in the darkness.

If I make a light, they'll know I'm here. No, not tonight. Not tonight.

His hands closed on the cool neck of the bottle, and he set himself for a bit of serious drinking.

A half hour later he was falling asleepЧor passing into unconsciousnessЧwith the better part of a fifth of Bushmills becoming one with his bloodstream.

And since he was the only one with a vantage pointЧand the only one not engaged in nocturnal activities that precluded idle observationsЧhe was the only one of the Faire folk who noticed the activity over the hill. The verdant green glow that flickered and vanished between the trees, in the hidden oak grove he had left to sing to itself.

Eric would have chalked up the effect to the Bushmills, except that he'd seen it start before he took his first drink.

It was still playing its little games among the tree trunks as he passed out, and his last coherent thought was to wonder if it would continue until dawn.




Х 2 Х

Echoes From the Forest

"Shit! Quarter till nine, and I can't find my goddamn socks!"

"Damnation, Seamus, I'll ne'er be o'er thar in time! Run on wi'out me, laddie!"

Eric Banyon awoke to the absolute cacophony that was the usual "morning song" of Faire. The assorted cries and shouts of the actors and musicians in the campsite mingled with the clanking of pots and pans. The gabble of voices in a dozen conversations nearby echoed vilely in an unholy concert with the pounding in his head. He opened one eye warily, felt the bright sunlight kick him in the face, and closed the eye again.

God, I'm going to die. Please God, let me die. I think I drank too much. No, strike thatЧI know I drank too much.

If I'm going to die, I sure hope it happens soon . . .