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

have, praying the sorcerer got in the room. Then he pushed it shut. As it clicked close, a voice spoke out
of the darkness. "I hope you didn't kill Elias and Reginar. They're good men, and will be difficult to
replace." A spark flared in the darkness, and a lantern sputtered to life. It illuminated the wiry form of
Lacroft, sitting easily in a chair across the room, facing the door. His bare sword lay across his lap.
Devon stood and took a step away from the door, towards Lacroft.

"Sorry. Elias has slept through his last duty. And you should have replaced Reginar a long time ago."
Devon fingered the dagger in each of his sleeves. A quick flick would drop them into his hands.

Lacroft shrugged. "Agreed. Neither of them would ever have been half the thief you are -- but they've
been unquestionably loyal. And in this business, that's a trait hard to find." Devon's face hardened at this.

"I've been loyal Lacroft. In the four years I've been in the guild I've never lifted a blade against you, or
ever spoke a word about you. That certainly didn't seem to keep you from trying to kill me." Devon's
eyes were cold. "What in Nagesh's name happened today?" Behind Devon, and blocked from Lacroft's
view, the door's bolt slowly slid home, securing the door. If Lacroft noticed, he gave no sign. He stood
up slowly, taking the sword into his hand as he did so.

"Don't tell me that with that gifted intellect of yours you haven't figured this one out yet," Lacroft sneered.
"No? Well let me explain." He took a step forward. Devon tensed. It was close. Any minute now. Hold
off a bit longer Barak, he thought to himself. Lacroft continued. "How do you think it is I've been leader
of this guild for over ten years? Cunning? Hard work? Hah! I've kept the top spot through one simple
policy -- eliminate the competition. And you, my boy, are the best competition I've seen since I took
over this Asu-forsaken group of cutthroats."

"That's it?" Devon breathed. "You ordered me killed simply because you feared for your job?" Devon's
voice was incredulous. "You could have spared yourself the worry! I don't want your job!"

"Sorry boy," Lacroft grinned. "But in this business, you can't take chances. And you were a chance. But
don't worry. If there's one thing I've learned, it's how to tip the odds in your favor. You've been an
outstanding thief, Devon. But your services are no longer required. Goodbye." He paused for a brief
second, grinning that toothy grin. Then he cried out "Guards! Danaar! Belath! He's here!" and lunged at
Devon with his sword.

Devon deftly sidestepped Lacroft's thrust, and circled around, daggers flashing in each of his hands. He
grinned. "Sorry Lacroft. But no one out cheats me. Not even you." At that moment, arcane words of
magic erupted near the door. Lacroft's eyes widened in sudden realization.

"The sorcerer!" he exclaimed. He turned, and in one fluid motion drew a dagger from his boot and hurled
it at the door, towards the chanting voice. The dagger imbedded solidly in the door, and the chanting
continued. Then it finished, and the form of Barak shimmered into view -- behind Lacroft, across the
room from the door. The sorcerer was holding a large lump of clay. As the incantation died on his lips,
the clay disappeared in a small flash of bright light. Both Devon's and Lacroft's features began to shift and
flow.

"No! What have you done!" Lacroft cried as he looked down at his arms and body in horror. He
dropped his sword and staggered against the wall. His features writhed and squirmed. His clothes
changed, his jaw widened, and thick, wavy hair sprouted from his head. At the same time Devon's form
was changing as well, his arms getting thinner, his clothes shifting to match those of Lacroft, and his hair
receding to near baldness. A crash resounded against the door. The guards were trying to get in. Devon