"02.Planeswalker" - читать интересную книгу автора (McGough Scott)

up, no weaker than he'd been when he'd knelt down.
The left side of his face had been raw where bitter
tears had leaked from the Weakstone, but it had healed
quickly, within a few moments. He'd walked away with no
marks from his season-long penance.
In his youth, when his wife's realm of Yotia had still
sparkled in the sun, a man named Rusko had told Urza that a
man had many souls throughout his life, and that after
death each soul was judged according to its deeds. Urza had
outlived his souls. The sylex had blasted him out of
judgment's hands. No penance would ever dull the ache of
failure.
All that remained was vengeance.
Urza had spent the spring and summer assuring himself
that Ashnod had not survived. He'd skipped through the
planes, returning after each unreal stride to Dominaria in
search of a woman who was too proud to change her
appearance or her ways. When fall had arrived without a
trace of her, Urza had turned his attention to Koilos,
where he and Mishra had come to manhood pursuing relics of
the Thran.
His immortal memory, he'd discovered, was fallible.
Planes-walking couldn't easily take him to a place he
didn't quite remember. In the end, searching for places
that had faded from memory, he'd been reduced to surveying
vast tracts of barren land from the air, as he and his
brother had surveyed in their youth.
He'd have given his eyes and immortality to have back
just one of those days he and Mishra had spent in Tocasia's
camp.
Sleety wind shot up his sleeves. Urza wasn't immune to
the discomforts of cold, merely to their effects. He
thought of a felted cloak; it spread downward from his
shoulders, thickening as he added a fur lining, then
gloves, fleece-lined boots and a soft-brimmed hat that
didn't move in the wind. He continued along the path
Mishra's workers had left. As before, and despite his new
boots, Urza left no footprints.
With each stride, pain ratcheted through his skull.
This close to the place where they'd been joined for
millennia, his jeweled eyes recalled another purpose.
Hoping to dull the pain, Urza turned his back to the
cavern. His throbbing eyes saw the snow-etched ruins as
shadows painted on gauzy cloth; nothing like the too-real
visions he'd suffered the day he'd acquired the Might-
stone. Then, the shadows expanded and began to move. They
were different from his earlier visions, but not entirely.
Where before he had watched white-robed men constructing
black-metal spiders, now he saw a battlefield swarming with
artifacts, another Argoth but without the demonic disorder.