"John Marco - Tyrants and Kings 3 - Saints of the Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marco John)

what was going on behind the nearby door. Was his grandfather weeping? he
wondered. Was his mother? She was so close to death now, probably too
weak for tears. And she never really had use for tears, anywayтАФher life and
husband had made her hard.
Lady Calida had been a good mother, and the only thing of beauty that
Alazrian knew. She had the heart of a lion and the soul of a poet, and it was a
mystery to Alazrian how she had come from the same loins that produced her
brother, Blackwood Gayle. Her father was sometimes a beast and almost
always a madman. And though Tassis Gayle loved his daughter dearly, he had
stood by while she married a man without love in his heart. Her life had been a
terrible thing, but she had never admitted that to Alazrian. She had taken joy
and refuge in him. She had worn him like a magic cloak to ward off evil.
A crash of thunder echoed through the hall. Alazrian jumped at the blast.
Down the hall, he could see the man who was not his father give him a
peripheral glare of disgust. Elrad Leth snorted and turned his attention back to
his own window. He wasn't speaking to anyone tonight, not even the king, and
Alazrian knew that Elrad Leth was a million miles away, preoccupied with
things more important than his wife's impending death. He had his hands
behind his back, the way he always did when he was contemplative, slapping
one into the palm of the other. His long body swayed a little as if he was
enjoying music, but his eyes never hinted at anything but disdain. Elrad Leth
cared for nothing, least of all his wife and "son," both of whom he beat
regularly. He took no joy in food or pageants or expensive clothing, and the
only time he smiled was when he sensed his power over others. The way the
storm lit his face was frightful.
Elrad Leth, Governor of Aramoor province, waited impatiently for King
Tassis Gayle to conclude his last encounter with his daughter. The family was
dwindling now. Tassis Gayle had already lost his son, and Alazrian worried
that this new loss would send the old man over the edge. Some were saying he
had already passed it. But if that was true, then Elrad Leth would be there at
the bottom, waiting for him.
But even in his grief, Tassis Gayle was different these days. As Calida
faded, the king grew vital, as if through some vampiric magic he stole her
years. Sorrow had given his life purpose, a dimension it hadn't had for a
decade. Grief had straightened his spine and strengthened him, quelled his
coughing fits. These days, Tassis Gayle resembled the blood-thirsty warlord
he had been in his youth.
Leth paid his son no regard as they both stared out at the stormy night.
Alazrian could feel the man's disappointment. He had wanted a strong son,
like himself. Instead, Calida had delivered him a bastard, and a weakling, too.
Leth could prove nothing of Alazrian's fatherhood, and Tassis Gayle would
brook no talk against his daughter's virtue. So Leth and Calida and Alazrian all
kept up the pretense, each of them knowing the truth, but Leth still
smouldered when he looked at the thin-boned son that was not his own.
Someday, Alazrian knew, the dam of his hatred would burst and Alazrian
would have nowhere to hide.
"Alazrian," called Leth from across the hall. "Come here."
The summons made Alazrian weak-kneed. He hated speaking to Leth. He
hated being around him. But he picked his way cautiously across the hall and
stood beside his so-called father, who sighed as he contemplated the rain.