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

"Go to her," ordered Gayle. "We will speak of your trip to Nar City later."
He grinned crookedly at the boy. "You're afraid, I know. Don't be. We have
things in store for our new emperor."
"What things?"
The king put a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Go see your mother now. Be with
her. It's what she wants."
The old man slid over to where his son-in-law waited and began talking in
murmurs. Alazrian didn't listen. The way his grandfather accepted Leth was
shocking, but he knew the king had reasons for keeping Leth's confidence; the
man had a talent for cruelty that Gayle needed. Only Leth's iron hand had been
able to govern Aramoor. Once he had become governor, nearly all the
rebellions had ceased. Except for the Saints.
Alazrian knocked gently on the door, not expecting his mother to answer.
He fashioned a smile and stepped inside. His mother's eyes gazed at him from
her sickbed. They were the only part of her that still looked familiar. Her raven
hair had fallen to dead grass and her once strong body had been devoured by
the cancer, so that a husk now stared back at him. Lady Calida managed a
frail smile. The treacly smell of medicines infused the air.
"Mother," said Alazrian cheerily, going to her bedside. "Can I get you
anything?"
Lady Calida shook her head, looking ghastly in the candlelight.
"Grandfather said you wanted to see me," said Alazrian. "But you should
rest."
"No more rest for me child," said Lady Calida. "Where I'm going there will
be time enough for that." She looked at him, and Alazrian knew that somehow
she had seen the future and was counting down the minutes.
"Stay with me," she said. There were no tears, not from this woman who
had endured so much. "I want you with me now. You alone."
"But, GrandfatherтАФ"
"Just you, Alazrian. My little boy." She reached out for his cheek, but
carefully avoided touching him. Alazrian tried to hold back his desire to save
her.
"Mother," he said desperately. "Let me help you. Please . . ."
Calida closed her eyes. "No, Alazrian. Do not even think it."
"But I can," the boy insisted. "You just need to let me." He leaned over her
and lowered his voice. "Father need never know. We'll call it a miracle or
something. Just let me try, please."
"No," said his mother adamantly. Her face grew pained. "Don't ever do
itтАФnot around your father. He must never know, Alazrian. Never.
Understand?"
Alazrian didn't understand. He didn't know why his mother was dying, or
why such a good woman had endured such a cruel husband, and he didn't
know how heaven could stand to watch something so unjust. His life was
nothing but questions now. And the one that vexed him most was his secret
gift. Watching his mother wither away, he wanted desperately to use it.
"I have this gift for a reason, Mother," Alazrian argued, careful to keep his
voice low. "You always told me so. Maybe the reason is to save you."
Lady Calida shook her head. "No, the reason remains a mystery. And I
don't want you to save me." Her eyes grew dim as her memory called up the
recent years. "I welcome death, I think."