"Mercedes Lackey - Mage Storms 1 - Storm Warning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

had learned just who those strangers were and something of their land. HeтАЩd had no
choice in the matter, since he was a hidden fugitive within the body that Falconsbane
had stolen years ago.
He should have died; that was what always happened before, when Falconsbane
took a body. But he hadnтАЩt; perhaps the reason was that he had fled, rather than
trying to resist the interloper.
A prisoner in my own body. . . . He closed his eyes and sank a measure deeper
into the hot water. So odd .... the memories of those years of hiding, when he had no
control over the actions of his own body, seemed more solid and real than this
moment, when the body he had been born into was once again his.
AnтАЩdeshaтАЩs had been only the last in a long series of bodies Falconsbane had
appropriated as his own. All that was required, or so it seemed, was for the victim to
be gifted with mage ability and to have been a descendant of a mage called MaтАЩar. If
those remote memories were to be trusted, MaтАЩar had lost his first life - or body,
depending on your point of view - in the Mage Wars of so long ago it made AnтАЩdesha
dizzy to think about the passage of years between that moment and this.
He slipped down to his chin into the hot water, and closed his eyes tighter, letting
the steam rise around his face. His face now, and not the half-feline face of
Mornelithe Falconsbane. His own body, too, for the most part, though it was more
muscular now than it had been when Falconsbane helped himself to it and tried to
destroy the original owner. Falconsbane had made a hobby of body sculpting, trying
out changes on his daughter before adopting them himself. He had indulged in some
extensive modifications to AnтАЩdeshaтАЩs body, changes AnтАЩdesha had been certain he
would have to endure even after Falconsbane had been driven out and destroyed.
But his own actions, risking real soul-death to rid the world of Falconsbane, had
earned him more than just his freedom. Not only had he regained his body, most of
the modifications had vanished when the Avatars of the Goddess тАЬcuredтАЭ him of what
had been done to him.
There were only two things they could not give him again; the original colors of his
hair and eyes. His hair was a pure, snowy white now, and his eyes a pale silver, both
bleached forever by the magic energies that Falconsbane had sent coursing through
this body, time and time again. So now, when AnтАЩdesha gazed into a mirror, it always
took a moment to recognize the reflection as his own.
At least I see the face of a half-familiar stranger, and not that of a beast. However
handsome that beast had made himself.
The hot water forced his muscles to relax some, but he feared he would have to
resort to stronger measures to release all the tension.
This place is so strange. . . . Let Firesong wallow in being the exotic and sought-
after alien; AnтАЩdesha was not comfortable here. The only people he really knew were
Nyara, the mage-sword Need, and Firesong, the Tayledras Adept. Of the three, the
only one he spent any time at all with was Firesong. Nyara was very preoccupied
with her mate, the Herald called Skif - and at any rate, it was hard to face her,
knowing she was the offspring of his body when Falconsbane had worn it, knowing
what his body had done to hers. Now that the crisis was over, Nyara seemed to feel
the same way; although she was never unkind, she often seemed uncomfortable
around him.
As for the ancient mage-sword that housed the spirit of an irreverent and crotchety
sorceress, the entity called Need had her nonexistent hands full. She was engrossed
in training Nyara, helping her adjust to this new land. Need was quite used to
adjusting to new situations; she had been doing so for many centuries; in this, he had