"02 - Nemesis - Paul B Thompson 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lebaron Francis)

the other, large bands to fit around his knees. The pads
exuded a sticky substance developed in the evincar's own
laboratory. His master assured him it would defeat the
elves' lichen.
He sprang onto the trunk and stuck there like a wasp on
a smear of honey. He raised his right hand and knee and
heaved them upward. The pads adhered to the tree without a
wobble. Soon his head was brushing the underside of the
porch. The climbing pads worked just as well on smooth
boards, and in moments he was on the porch.
The house was still-as it should be, for its master was
away fighting the evincar. The target's shuttered window
betrayed a hint of foxfire within. Was she still awake?
He inserted a finger between the shutter slats. The
kidney-shaped room beyond was hewn from the living tree.
There was a bed of boughs at the far end of the room, away
from the only door. The target lay in the bed covered by a
dappled green animal skin. By the door, a carved image of an
angel held an open foxfire lamp.
The shutters were locked with a simple hook, which
easily yielded to his knife blade. They swung out, and he
lifted a lean leg over the sill. The figure in bed never
stirred. Once in the room, he closed the shutters and went
to the door. It was barred with a carved wooden beam as
thick as his arm. Such primitive safety measures were
useless against an agent of the evincar. He crept to the
bed, removing the sticky pads from his hands as he went. The
agent knelt beside the bed and studied the face of his
target. She was the one, all right. How many days had he
looked into her eyes and felt love? How many days did it
take the evincar's minions to condition such feelings out of
him?
With a sudden motion, he yanked his knife from its
sheath. It wavered for a moment in the lamplight as the
deepest vestiges of his old self struggled with his new
loyalties. He could not... resist. The blade slid quietly
into the nest of soft boughs. He took out the vial provided
by the overlords and used the knife tip to pierce the wax
seal on the stopper.
One drop is sufficient.
He was supposed to pour a single drop in the eye or on
the lips, but he saw something that made him change his
method. A feather headdress hung from a peg above the
target's bed. Silently, he plucked a single blue feather
from the stylish array. Not so long ago he'd worn feathers
like this.
He dipped the feather into the vial and gently pulled it
out. Clear liquid clung to the tip. It smelled fresh, like a
field of newly mown grass.
He brought the feather to the sleeping girl's mouth. For