"Modesitt, L E - The Hammer of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"You're doubtful, Martel?"
"Why do you keep calling me Martel?"
"Because that's your real identification. Subconsciously
you think of yourself as Martel, and not as Martin. I would
advise you to cut some of the confusion short and go with
Martel. That's an easy problem to solve."
When the other makes no move to leave, with the silence
drawing out, Martin/Martel clears his throat.
"Call me Apollo. I'm here because I can't resist danger,
however removed, and because someday you might decide to
help me."
Not exactly the most helpful answer, reflects Martin/
Martel, but it rings true.
"What sort of help?"
"I'd rather not say. You'll find out."
Another true statement, according to Martel's internal lie
detector.
There are too many fragments. Norms, glittermotes,
strength he doesn't have, but has. Seeing in total darkness ...
He closes his eyes but wills himself to see. The room does
not change, is still visible through closed eyelids.
As he realizes he can see behind the half-closed doors of
the wardrobe, he begins to itemize the small personal trinkets.
He stops, half bemused, half frightened, when he realizes
that Apollo has gone and that the portal had not opened.
The ceiling begins to glow, shedding a real light.
"Flame. Just beginning to tell the difference."
Just make it habit. The thought comes from far away.
Apollo?
A low note chimes, and the green light above the portal il-
luminates. Mattel braces himself for the glare, but with his
eyes slit, the increase is bearable.
A thin older woman carries a small tray into the room. The
mental static that surrounds her announces that she has some
sort of shield or screen.
She does not look at him.
"Good morning. Is it morning?"
Her face narrows. The frown, her black hair, and her thin
eyebrows all combine to form a disapproving look. Martel
studies her, decides she is younger than he thought.
"It's morning. How do you feel?"
Despite the mental screen, Martel can sense her puzzle-
ment.
"Confused," he admits. "How long have I been here?
Asleep?"
"Two standard months. Not always asleep."
She puts down the tray and steps back, eyes taking in the
bent metal railing.
"What do you mean, not always asleep?"
She backs farther away.