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

at the center of the alley. But at a flick of Bramin's hand, the driver stemmed his tide of oaths and
swerved to a roadside ditch. They fear me. For the first time since he had left to kill the giant, Bramin
smiled with cruel satisfaction. My life aura has dwindled to nearly nothing, yet those who once scorned
me now shy from a gesture. Still, for Halfrija's love, he would weather the gibes of peasants gladly.



The setting sun lanced red light through the guttering remnant of Bramin's aura. Utterly alone in his fury
despite the dispersing throng of Forste-Mar's citizenry, he plodded to his mother's home. He opened the
simple plank door, stepped across its threshold, and slammed it closed behind him. Despite his effort, the
portal slid shut with an impotent click which betrayed his weakness. Rage flared anew.



Despite the death of Bramin's stepfather several months earlier, the cottage had changed little since his
childhood. The sod-chinked walls enclosed a simply-furnished room separated from his mother's
bedchamber by a patched, blue curtain. Silme sat before a blazing hearth fire, a tomcat nestled in the
folds of her robe, while a brother and sister begged stories of distant lands and Dragonrank training. As
Bramin entered, his mother rose from a chipped wooden bench, her youngest child cradled to her breast.
"Bramin?"



Bramin gave no explanation. He spared neither glance nor words for the mother and half siblings who
followed his march to the loft ladder with questioning stares. Anger lent the sorcerer strength. He caught
the lowest rungs in callused palms and climbed to his sleeping quarters with a deliberate-ness designed to
override fatigue-inspired clumsiness. Once in the loft, he pitched onto a pallet, oblivious to the bells and
balls left by the child who occupied this bed since Bramin's departure to pursue the skills of Dragonrank.
Tears burned his eyes. Repeatedly, his fist pounded the pillow, scattering straw among the toys.



Behind Bramin, the ladder groaned. Silme's sweet voice wound through the loft. "Brother, are you well?"



Bramin whirled like a cornered beast. Inappropriately, his malice channeled against the half sister who
had comforted him in youth, the one woman he knew would not condemn him. "Nothing's changed,
Silme! The citizens of Forste-Mar still hate me. Halfrija spurns my love." He struck the pallet again.
 "Stop!"Silme's voice grew uncharacteristically harsh. "Before you embed your soul in self-pity and
accuse me of lying, tell me what happened in Ashemir's court." Bramin sucked air through pursed lips,
then exhaled in a long sigh. He recounted the scenario in the king's presence, his overwhelming
exhaustion, Ashemir's eager determination, and Halfrija's cruelty. As he concluded the tale, he
surrendered to the cold grip of hopelessness. His words emerged in a thin whine. "While vestiges of
dignity remain, I must leave Forste-Mar and never return. I cannot bear the sight of Halfrija's beauty,
knowing her love will never belong to me."



Silme lowered herself to the pallet beside her half brother. She squeezed his knee reassuringly. "Don't