"Dusty Monk - The Cloak & The Dagger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Monk Dusty)

The Cloak and the Dagger

by Dusty Monk

Barak sat at the table, sipping his tea quietly. It was just after dawn, and he was the taproom's sole
occupant. Even the innkeep was nowhere to be seen, undoubtedly in the back somewhere making
preparations for what was probably going to be another blistering day. Barak didn't mind the heat. He
had been raised in climes much warmer than this, and what was to everyone else scorchingly hot was to
Barak tolerably warm. He pulled the collar of his gray robes up a bit, and took another sip of the
steaming tea. It's just as well the innkeep's not here anyway, he thought to himself. He felt it was a credit
to the man's intellect that by now he had figured out that during these morning sits, Barak wanted nothing
more than a large mug of herbal tea, and to be left alone. For the past two weeks Barak had been renting
one of the rooms upstairs, and each morning, at precisely the break of dawn, he went down to the
taproom. There he spent exactly thirty minutes -- the amount of time it took for the sun's rays to go from
the first barstool to the third floor plank from the wall -- just sitting and sipping his tea. Barak found the
ritual relaxed him. It allowed him to collect his thoughts, and to prepare his mental faculties for the trials of
the day ahead.

And trials they were. Not since graduating from the seven year tutelage had he faced a chantmaster as
rigorous as Master Nevelm. Each day he and his fellow student had been put through the paces by the
chantmaster. Hour upon hour of verbal exercises, followed by equally long finger and hand dexterity
drills, and that itself often followed by obscure and cryptic riddle games -- until by the end of each day he
could barely speak, his hands felt that they would fall off at the wrist, and his mind was numb from the
work. Barak looked down ruefully at the sleeves of his robes. All just for a slightly darker shade, he
smiled to himself.

But the work was worth it. Besides the magic itself, Barak enjoyed the secrecy -- the mystery that went
with his profession. He wouldn't give it up for a dragon's eye. The robes marked his profession to anyone
in Athania as that of a sorcerer -- no mystery there. But of the three schools of magic practiced,
sorcerers were without a doubt the most secretive -- most discreet group of them all. It was common
enough knowledge that initiates just entering the seven year tutelage wore robes of white. And that only
the Grand Sorcerer wore robes of black. But between, all sorcerers wore some shade of gray. The
darker the shade, the more skilled the sorcerer. But in typical fashion, only those that had completed the
seven year tutelage knew exactly how many shades of gray there were to the sorcerer's ranks. Barak
chuckled to himself. It just typified the whole belief system of sorcerers -- keep them guessing. Barak
glanced down at the floor. The sun's rays had withdrawn almost to the third plank from the wall. It was
time to go. Master Nevelm would not tolerate tardiness. He finished off the last of his now cool tea, set a
few copper pence under the cup, and strode out into the already warm day.

There it was again! That insistent pounding! Who in Nagesh's black name was it! Devon buried his head
under the pillow, but it was no good. He could still hear the pounding. "Go away!" his muffled call came
from beneath the pillow. "Before I come cut off your arms and feed them to you!" The pounding stopped.
For a few blissful moments, there was silence. But then a plaintiff voice called from beyond the door.

"But Master Winter sir.. Master Lacroft was most specific. He told me you were to come see him at
once! His instructions were quite clear sir!" Devon fumed. That was it. He hadn't lay down more than
three hours ago -- and it was the first bed he'd seen after two weeks of sleeping outside. He rolled out of
bed in a fury and grabbed his sword. "I don't care if the King of Calor himself summoned me!" He drew
his sword loudly as he stormed towards the door. "If you're there when I open this door, I swear I'll--"
He jerked open the door to his room. The hallway was empty. He grinned to himself. That had to have