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

The king rose from his throne. "Bramin Jade-claw, you see my daughter, the Lady Halfrija. On
Midsummer's Day, I sanction the marriage between you. May you live long together and prosper!"



Halfrija opened her mouth to speak, but her words were lost beneath the cheers of the crowd. As
Bramin turned his back to the king and trod the walkway toward Halfrija, she shrank back. Her hands
clenched to bloodless fists, and her soprano pierced the dying shouts of the court. "Wait!"



Bramin stopped before her trembling form.



"I would test your love," she announced shrilly. "It is my right."



Breath broke from Bramin in an angry hiss. He had risked his life for her once and would gladly do so
again. But her entreaty was an affront. While it was indeed her privilege, no princess had invoked the law
since its enactment three centuries past.



Halfrija continued. "You must fight a champion of my choosing to the death in the arena at midmorn.
Should you survive, my hand is yours." She shivered, and her voice acquired a strange, droning quality.
"You may select your weapon, but use of sorceries or enchanted swords will free me from my promise."



Struck to the heart by the maliciousness of her challenge, Bramin dropped all pretense of dignity. He
knelt before Halfrija with the true respect he had denied the king."As you wish, my lady. May the court
hear my vow to kill or be killed by your champion without use ofmagic. "



Halfrija's mouth twitched to a cruel smile which swiftly disappeared.
 Stiffly, Bramin turned. Fatigue and hopelessness wove a black curtain across his vision. As he retreated
along the carpeted walkway he stumbled, and the glares of courtiers sapped him of all remaining grace. It
seemed an eternity before he reached the far end of the hall. A guard swung open the carved oak doors,
and Bramin passed through them. The portals clanged closed behind him, silencing the whispered
condemnations of Ashemir's court as completely as death.



Outside, wind flung strands of matted hair into Bramin's face as if to mock him. Despair rose to self-pity,
then flared to righteous anger. His journey through the familiar streets of his childhood seemed as one
through a tunnel. The dirt roads blurred to the dark obscurity of disinterest. Peasants stared or scuttled
from his path, unnoticed. A horse cart driver hurled epithets at the dark sorcerer who paced the cobbles