"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Bifrost 01 - Godslayer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

The three mailed guards who ushered Bramin into the king's court regarded him with cautious curiosity.
No one dared touch him. Nor did they question the cloth parcel which swung from his belt. Offending
any wizard could spell instant death, and the jade stone clamped in the black-nailed claw which tipped
Bramin's staff identified him as a sorcerer of high rank.



As they passed through the double set of oak doors, Bramin fought to keep his head high. The battle he
had just survived and the enchantments of transport weakened him both mentally and physically. His aura
had dulled to a flicker of gold and, though he had nothing to fear in Ashemir's throne room, he hoped the
king's magician would not recognize his fatigue. It was simply a matter of pride.



The carpeted path to the king's throne seemed to stretch for miles. The court watched the procession in
a vast silence which jagged Bramin's already taut nerves. A comma of black hair slipped into his eye, and
he flicked it back with an anger that sapped much of his remaining strength. Weakness of any sort
enraged Bramin, and it reminded him of his reckless squandering of power. Over-confidence had cost
many of his colleagues their lives.



"Step forward and name yourself." King Ashe-mir's command broke the silence, and tense whispers
followed it. Ire rose momentarily at this ritual formality. The king knew Bramin well. The magician had
been born and raised in the royal city, the product of a rape. His father was one of the dark elves, the last
faery creature seen in this part of the world. As a child, Bramin paid for his willowy figure and dark
complexion with jeerings and ridicule.



Bramin came forward, unhurried. He nodded briefly at the advisor beside the king, glared at the court
sorcerer, who regarded him with both envy and amusement, and bowed pleasantly to the king. "I am
Bramin, Dragonrank of the Jade Claw." He thumped the base of his staff on the floor for emphasis. "I
have performed your quest. The giant, Redselr, lies dead at my hands." He thumbed the sack at his belt.
Enervation and anxiety caused him to misjudge position and strength, and the tie snapped. The bag fell to
the floor, and the giant's head rolled free to the king's feet.



King Ashemir recoiled with a gasp. The court sorcerer turned an unbecoming shade of green. Behind
Bramin, strained whispers broke to cries of fear and amazement. Guards scrambled to maintainorder,
others ran for the abomination which seemed to stare at their king with glazed eyes.
 With a word and a gesture, Bramin caused the head to slide back into its bag. The effort slammed
against him like a wall, stealing his breath. His life aura flickered dangerously. A high-pitched ringing filled
his head, making the voices around him seem distant. Yet Bramin retained control over his languishing
muscles. Gradually his mind cleared, and he cursed himself brutally. He could have let the guards clear his
mistake away or physically done so himself. Pride alone goaded him to recklessness, and he had nearly
paid its price.