"Douglas Niles - Druidhome 2 - The Coral Kingdom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

had never looked before. Carrying a long taper, she poked through stiff curtains and examined heavy,
dust-laden shelves.
Finally, in one of the back alcoves, she felt a sudden thrill of discovery, though she didn't know what she
had found. Setting the candle down on a shelf, she reached forward to grasp a long, flat object, wrapped in
brittle leather as protection against dust and disturbance. Slowly, breathlessly, she tore the stiff and moldy
skin away, revealing a glimmering surface of pure reflection.
 She studied herself in the mirror, astounded by the clarity of the image staring back at her. Even here, in
an alcove virtually devoid of light, she saw each detail of her white skin and her dark black hair that swept
across her forehead and framed each side of her coldly beautiful face. "I am beautiful," she observed softly.
This was no mere expression of vanity, however. Instead, it represented the confirmation of still another
weapon in her inventory of powers.
The mirror seemed to beckon her like a bottomless well of crystal water. For a brief moment, she felt
herself falling, a dizzying sensation that swirled around her even as she felt her feet firmly planted on the
floor. Then she looked into the glass again, and her reflection slowly faded from view. She felt a sense of
wonder, a trembling excitement that numbed her fingers as she gripped the frame tightly.
Deirdre allowed her mind to wander beyond the walls of the castle, beyond the island of Alaron. In
moments, her attention soared, and the image in the mirror shifted to match. She saw a great expanse of
water, steel gray even under a pale blue skyтАФthe Sea of Moonshae. Trees lined the horizon, then great
highlands sprouted from the land, and she knew that she beheld the island of Gwynneth.
Next pastoral Corwell appeared, and she sought the small castle where her parents had been raised.
Caer Corwell looked the same as always, jutting peremptorily atop its little knoll. The mirror zoomed in, and
the princess saw the field dotted with tents and tables, in the midst of some incomprehensibly boring feast.
How amusing, Deirdre thought, quickly grasping the potential of this rare device. She could be the
perfect spy. She could eavesdrop on anything, anywhere she wanted. Cautiously, as if she feared detection,
she urged the picture closer, and soon she found the heavy table where her mother, her sister, and a
number of their sycophants sat. They were not eating, but instead stared at an object lying on the table.
Deirdre felt a secret contempt as she watched. How pitiful were their interests and concerns! Simple and
small, as befitted their powers.
But then her vision encountered the being who stood before the great table, the obese ambassador from
the unknown region. Robyn spoke sharply to this fellow, but already Deirdre stared in shock, and then in
growing rage. She cared not what her mother said or did, for in the clarity of the mirror, she saw who this
was. He was no human ambassador from the Sword Coast or anywhere else. She recognized him with a
sensation of cold terror, but it was terror mixed with fascination, even attraction, such as the moth finds in
the flame.
For this grotesque being who now stood before the queen was none other than the avatar of evil, the one
Deirdre had known as Malawar.

* * * * *

"Foul bastard!" shouted Lord Hanrald, springing to his feet so quickly that his chair tumbled over
backward. "You'll pay for your insolence with your life!"
Keane cursed beneath his breath. The shock of the hand's appearance had disrupted the concentration
of his spell.
Only Robyn remained fixed in place, displaying no reaction. "Why do you bring me my husband's hand?
Tell me quicklyтАФbefore you die! Did you kill him?"
"No, esteemed matriarch!" exclaimed the plump visitor, his features contorting into a mask of
indignation. "I am no murderer, nor do I come to torment you! Indeed, you should greet me with joy, for I
bring you glad tidings!"
Alicia saw the ranks of crossbowmen raise their weapons. Her mother's hands were clenched into fists
on the table before her, but Robyn's gaze never left the hatefully pleasant face of the stranger.