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

"Because of him," Alazrian growled.
His mother merely nodded. There was still a scar on her forehead where
Leth's ring had slashed the skin. Alazrian wanted to touch the scar and make it
fade away. He wanted to heal her ravaged body the way he had the goat with
the broken leg, knitting the bones with one miraculous touch. And he wanted
to heal her broken soul too, but he knew that damage was beyond his power.
Elrad Leth had cut those scars too deeply for any physician to reach, even
one with magic.
"Listen to me now," Lady Calida ordered. "Don't use it around your father,
you hear?"
"He's not my father," Alazrian scoffed.
"Are you listening? Never around him. Or your grandfather. If they knew,
there would be no peace for you. No peace. You grow up and get free of
them. Find out about your real father and who you are, and never let them
know you're gifted." The effort wearied Calida, but she kept a steely gaze on
Alazrian, insisting that he listen. "Alazrian?"
Alazrian nodded. "I hear you."
"Swear it." Again she reached out, stopping just shy of his touch. "I won't
rest unless you do."
She was asking the impossible of him, but he knew there was nothing else
worth saving here in Aramoor. Alazrian gave his mother a forlorn smile.
"I swear it," he said softly. "I'll not use the gift around Father."
"Or your grandfather," Calida cautioned again. "He loves you, Alazrian, but
he's not to be trusted. He'll not be the same once I go." True enough, Alazrian
knew. He had already seen the aberrations in his grandfather. Tassis Gayle had
never been stable and the death of his son had rushed him toward insanity.
Now the death of his daughter was sealing his fate.
"Has grandfather told you?" Alazrian asked gently. "I'm to go to Nar City.
The emperor has summoned Father, and me with him. I'm afraid, Mother."
Calida's thin eyebrows went up. "The Black City? The emperor has asked
for you?"
"Yes, I think so. Father just told me so. We're to face the Protectorate."
Even from her sickbed Lady Calida had heard of the Protectorate. The
emperor's tribunal was famous throughout Nar. Or more precisely, it was
infamous. War criminals from the corners of the Empire were being
summoned to face Biagio and his inquisitor, Dakel. Since the death of Arkus,
Nar had become a very unstable place.
"I'm not surprised about your father," said Calida at last. "The way he
butchers these Aramoorians . . ." She thought for a moment. "Biagio is a
devious man. Do you remember him, Alazrian?"
"Not well," replied the boy honestly. In the days before the death of Arkus
when Biagio was merely the head of the Roshann, he would come to Talistan
from time to time, mostly to supervise the goings-on in Aramoor. Alazrian's
grandfather always had a room ready for Biagio in the castle. The two titans
had been friends then, or more precisely allies. But times had changed. "I
remember he was odd-looking," Alazrian mused. "I remember his eyes."
Lady Calida smiled. Biagio's eyes were unforgettable. They were sapphire
blue and preternatural, and they burned with fire. Alazrian didn't remember
much about Biagio, but he could never forget those eyes. "The emperor wants
the truth," Calida decided. "And he thinks he can get it from you."