"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Darkness Comes Together" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

Josafah turned his focus back to the moat. His natal talent continued to show masses of fish poised to
lunge at anything that might pass for food. Realization slammed him. Normal weight, then light as air.
Nightfall, too, has a birth gift. He smiled. How much would a sorcerer pay for that knowledge?
Other thoughts chased the grin into oblivion. What sorcerer could catch him? And how much would
my own life be worth once Nightfall found out I sold his secret? In memory, he relived the perfect
toss of the knife that had grounded it into a secure crack on the first throw. That, too, seemed beyond
human capability; it also could be a natal talent. Maybe he's just incredibly skilled. Josafah dismissed
the possibility with a far more terrifying one. Or, perhaps, he really is the demon of legend. He stifled a
gasp. Worse yet, a sorcerer!

The consideration paralyzed Josafah. Sweat surged from every pore, and his thoughts scattered in savage
panic. He remained motionless, devoid of action, of knowledge, of rationality. Then, gradually, his wits
returned and, with them, logic. Though Nightfall had no consistent pattern to his crimes, he was known
for fast, clean murder. Collecting natal gifts required tedious and brutal torture; sorcerers always left a
grisly scene of butchery.

The rope made an impatient swoop. Shocked from his musings, Josafah looked toward the opposite
wall. A shadowy figure gestured at him from the top. My turn. Josafah looked from the rope, to the
moat, to the far wall. Chill wind dried the sweat, leaving an icy layer of gooseflesh. His fingers massaged
the pouch of coins through the fabric of his pocket. He needed the money, and he knew of no other way
across. Still, fortune and fame did him little good dead. He started toward the rope. Something shifted
beneath his foot, scraping the stone. Remembering the vial, he hastily pocketed it, then caught hold of the
doctored linen.

Nightfall slipped over the far wall.

Josafah sucked in a deep breath, loosed it, then seized the rope in both hands. He shifted to the
upside-down position Nightfall had used, keeping his legs clenched safely on the top of the wall.
Gradually, he eased more of his weight onto the rope, surprised to find it sturdy. Finally, he took that last
leap of faith, edging his feet free. The rope sagged slightly but continued to bear his weight. Measuring
every movement, he worked his way across, the rope bouncing with his slightest motion. His hood
flopped free again; his hair and cloak dangled toward the water. He ignored the discomfort of wind
leeching through the openings in his cloak that his awkward position created. The murky water beneath
him seethed with passive energy, surface riffled by the breeze. Its rancid odor wrinkled his nose.

At length, Josafah reached the wall and eased himself to its top. He paused to readjust his clothing and
tuck his hair back beneath his hood.

Nightfall appeared moments later, sweat glazing his scarred features, the rope cinched tightly around his
waist. Only then, Josafah recognized the strategy. The wedged knife had not supported him. Nightfall had
used himself as ballast, hanging over the wall to keep the rope taut. The realization caused Josafah to
examine his companion more closely. At first glance, he had considered the other man enormous. Now,
he saw that the illusion of size came from attitude and repute. Nightfall stood no taller than himself and
was, if anything, lighter. He would have had to cling desperately to the wall to brace Josafah's weight for
so long.

Still curious, Josafah pantomimed hurling a knife. "Gift?" he whispered.

Nightfall gave his head a brisk toss. "Practice." The response itself revealed little, but the tone suggested
dreary hours of practice daily for many years.