"Michael Moorcock - The Runestaff 3 - The Sword of The Dawn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

"Soon," merrily growled Adaz Promp, Master of the
Order of the Hound, "all the world will be ours. All."

The Barons of Granbretan, masters of a continent,
tacticians and warriors of ferocious courage and skill,
careless of their own lives, corrupt of soul and mad of
brain, haters of all that was not in decay, wielders of
power without morality, force without justice, chuckled
with gloomy pleasure as they watched the last Euro-
pean city to withstand them crumble and die. It had
been an old city. It had been called Athena.

"All," said Jerek Nankenseen, Warlord of the Order
of the Fly, "save the hidden Kamarg ..."

And Baron Meliadus lost his humor then, made al-
most as if he would strike his fellow warlord.

Jerek Nankenseen's bejewelled Fly-mask turned a
little to regard Meliadus and the voice from within the
mask was baiting. "Is it not enough that you have
chased them away, my lord Baron?"

"No," snarled the Wolf of Wolves. "Not enough."

"They can offer us no menace," murmured Baron
Brenal Farnu of the Rat helm. "From what our scien-
tists divined, they exist in a dimension beyond Earth,
in some other time or space. We cannot reach them and
they cannot reach us. Let us enjoy our triumph, un-
marred by thoughts of Hawkmoon and Count
Brass..."

"I cannot!"

"Or is it another name that haunts thee, brother

Baron?" Jerek Nankenseen mocked the man who had
been his rival in more than one amorous encounter in
Londra. "The name of the fair one, Yisselda? Is it love
that moves you, my lord? Sweet love?"

For a moment the Wolf did not reply, but the hand
that gripped the sword tightened as if in fury. Then
the rich, musical voice spoke and it had recovered its
composure, was almost light in tone.

"Vengeance, Baron Jerek Nankenseen, is what moti-
vates me..."