"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 02 - Saber and Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

War had been decided; that was certain. But it was necessary to know more, and
temple alarms had certainly been tripped by her first scrying. She took one
deep breath, then another, sank into fight trance, and began very delicately
to probe.

The circle of priests formed with swift ease once the Watcher had called.
Heretical use of the Holy Sun's Power had been found again. Around the walls
of a cone-shaped room, eyes focused unblinking on the pinpoint of flame that
burned unwavering in the center; waiting, patient as a cancer breeding
silently through the nerves.
There! The flame wavered in a certain nonphysical undirection. Hate surged
within the circle, building into a swirling vortex, ready to be released when
the Damned One of the Guild of Fools showed himself.

Soundless, the form of the magician drifted over the temple. She scanned the
area carefully, averting her consciousness from the shape before her; on this
plane one could confront nothing that was not elemental Trudi; she had no
desire to comprehend what two hundred generations of belief and agony had made
of it. Here as ever, there was no unknowing.

Probing, she met a shell of glass. No, it was alive; pulsing rhythmically,
tiny openings gaping as it moved. It tasted of sour yellow; she gritted
nonexistent teeth and slid along the outer surface, extending a tendril . . .
She stepped sideways, to the plane of Absolute Essence, and considered the
Symbol of the Temple. Ahhhh, perhaps .. . Walking the time dimension was a
physical thing here, studying the manifold branchings of probability. Yes: a
high possibility of a gap here. Best not consider it too closely, lest the
information gained fix the parameters when she returned to the time-inflow. It
would be of no use to penetrate here, for there was no verbal language among
absolute Symbol.

Sideways again, to the original plane. She picked the place/time, pushed, felt
a sensation like icy slivers that rasped sadly grey on her skin, and was
through. Yeva heard: ". . . not intend to split the Iron House; if division
came to actual fighting, there would be disas-"

A wave of emotion broke around her, swirling the identity matrix that she was
here, smashing her against the inner wall of the temple's protection. Rage,
pain, fear, guilt, hate, lust flickered through the pathways of her
consciousness, and far away she could sense the response of her immobile body
as its glands opened slightly, beneath the iron control her training imposed
on the hindbrain. The priestly circle fought to pin her mind there until
emotion killed the body. Coppery taste of fear, savage adrenaline exhilaration
of anger, grey meaninglessness of depression. With a single convulsive heave
she snapped back through the opening of her entry and returned identity to the
physical body. They followed her, using the window in time and possibility for
the counterstrike. World and other-world crackled as the bolt struck, and
there was an ear-stunning roar of entopic noise as she shouted words of
Containment. Darkness.