"Sniegoski, Thomas E - Outcast - 04 - Wurm War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sniegoski Thomas E)

"Do you see it, Hannuk?" Raptus asked. "In my hands, I hold the future."
The old Wurm recoiled as the general held the egg out to him, almost as if he could sense the power roiling inside the fragile shell, and was terrified by it.
"How is this possible?" Hannuk asked, his rough voice now an awe-filled whisper. "In all my years I never would have believed that it could be true."
Raptus held the Spawn of Wrath all the higher, showing it to all his soldiers, who had gathered at his request.
"Look upon its magnificence and believe!" he bellowed. The rain began to fall harder, and he was certain that many present didn't understand the full ramifications of the prize. The legends of the ancients were practically forgotten by the younger generations of Wurm, but he would teach themЧshow them the extent of its ancient might.
The survivors of the mining operation had been gathered as well, corralled together, their heads bowed in a pathetic mixture of defeat and fear. Raptus moved toward them, his prize held out before him. He wanted them to see the object of their eventual destruction.
"Do you see, mages?" he asked as he held the Spawn out to them. Most raised their heads, eyes fixing on the egg. Steam rose from its smooth, yellow surface as the rain landed on it. "This was created because of youЧbecause of the fear and the disloyalty you inspire, and the misery and pain you bring. You have done this."
They stood silently, their faces covered in dirt, ash, and blood. Yet there was a low rustle of voices in the air. At first he thought the whispering came from somewhere behind him, and he whirled around to listen. But then Raptus realized that the voices were coming from the eggЧthe Spawn was speaking to him.
And Raptus listened.
The collected rage and fear of his ancestors spoke to him, thousands upon thousands of ghostly voices clamoring to fill his skull. The egg started to vibrate, a pulsing glow beginning to emanate from within. And the dead continued to chatter and wail, every detail of the indignities suffered by the ancient species at the hands of the mages pouring into his head.
His own rage was fed by the rabid emotions of the ancients, and he thought he would explode. Raptus began to tremble and the egg to vibrate. It seemed to be growing larger in his hands, and he almost cried out, but he found that his tongue was paralyzed and his eyes were locked on the yellowed surface of the Spawn of Wrath.
It was almost too much for him to bear, and he attempted to release the egg, to let it dropЧand likely shatter upon the sacred ground of Tora'nahЧbut it would not let him. It was as if his hands had become part of the Spawn's surface, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not be free of it. Raw, razor-sharp emotions flowed through his body like the most powerful of magical spells, and he was assaulted on every sensory level, driven nearly to the brink of madness.
Raptus was certain that he was about to die, that the frenzied emotions of the Dragons of Old were so starved for revenge that their eagerness would snuff out his life. He could sense his soldiers watching him, not sure what they should do. He wanted to cry out for any of them to relieve him of this horrific burden. But the dragons would not allow it. There was so much they had to tell him.
It was too much to bear, and it drove him to his knees. Still he held on to his prizeЧa prize that had unexpectedly become a curse. He felt his sense of self slowly slipping away. All that remained was a primitive, snarling beast, an animal that would do anything to survive.
Raptus tossed back his head, roaring up into the storm-filled skies, before bringing his mouth down, biting into the shell of the Spawn of Wrath. He felt the surface of the Spawn crack, heard the shrieks and wails of the ghostly voices trapped within cry out all the louder, as if excited by his attack. Again and again the tyrant bit down upon the hard surface of the Spawn, as more and more fractures appeared in its yellowed shell.
Then he snapped his jaws closed in a final, tremendous bite, an attack that would have snapped bone and torn sinew. The shell shattered, exposing the roiling contents of the Spawn of Wrath, bathing Raptus in the collected hatred of a race long gone. It enveloped him, crawling inside the warmth of his body to make itself at home.
Raptus shrieked a cry of the damned as magical energies merged with his body, flowing out from his talons to strike at the burial ground on which he stood. And as the magic of the ancient dragons touched it, the ground began to bubble and froth as though it were liquid.
He spread his wings and took to the sky, feeling the presence of the dragons in every aspect of his bodyЧfilling him up with unbridled fury, making him thirst for the opportunity to reap his revengeЧtheir revenge at last.
Everything is different now, he thought as he soared above the human excavation at Tora'nah. Before, he would dream of possessing a power that would allow him to see his enemies vanquished, and now that had been realized and the power belonged to him.
Raptus came to a halt above the gathered mages, his powerful wings pounding the air with mighty beats to keep himself aloft. He stared down at them, studying each and every one. He wanted to remember them, the first to fall before the unbridled fury joined to his own.
"You are but the first," he roared, the bubbling of liquid fire percolating in his chest before his mouth opened, and the flames, fueled by his own wrath and the wrath of dead dragons, came forth to reduce the human prisoners to ash.
Raptus then dropped from the sky to kneel among the still-smoldering remains of his vanquished enemy. He furled his wings, hearing the sound of someone approaching behind him.
"General Raptus," Hannuk said with caution. "Are you ... are you well?"
And Raptus turned to look upon his second in command with new eyes.
A conqueror's eyes.
"Hannuk, dear friend," he growled, fresh fire bubbling in his throat. "I've never been better."
The two young Wurm were chasing him again.
Edgar flew swiftly down the long, first-floor corridor, looking for someplace to hide from the mischievous youngsters. He knew that they were only playing, but their playing often had a tendency to get a little rough, and he had the singed tail feathers to show for it.
Ahead he could see that the door to Argus Cade's study hung partway open, and he breathed a sigh of relief, flapping his wings all the harder for that extra burst of speed to get to his oasis of safety more quickly. Angling his body in such a way as to fit, the rook soared through the opening, stomach and back feathers gently brushing against the door and frame.
"Better lay off the sweets," he grumbled.
Edgar fluttered around the study and went back to the door. Touching down in front of the opening, he could hear the sound of the young Wurm's approach. He placed his side against the wood and gave it a push. The door shut, and the black bird breathed a sigh of relief. He heard their playful laughter as they went past the door, wondering aloud where he had hidden. In moments the sounds receded. They would eventually tire of searching for him or something else would distract them. Wurm children had very short attention spans.
Left alone in the study, Edgar spread his wings and launched himself upward to land atop the desk that had once belonged to his master, Argus Cade. It was strange to see it uncluttered. When Argus was alive, it had always been laden with scrolls and mystical artifacts. As the familiar to Argus CadeЧcompanion, servant, messenger, and confidantЧEdgar had felt privileged to know a mage with such honor and such brilliance. Now he had the pleasure of serving his former master's son.
Most familiars passed on with the death of their masters, but something had kept Edgar in the world. Perhaps Argus had arranged for it, or perhaps it was simply his purpose.
The bird hopped about the desktop, remembering earlier times. He missed Argus Cade terribly. It was the first time since the archmage's death that he had actually had the opportunity to reminisce about his old friend. He wondered what Argus would have thought of how much things had changed since Timothy stepped out of Patience: the fall of Nicodemus, the coming of Verlis and his tribe, the revelation that Alhazred was still alive, and now the Wurm invasion.
Edgar shivered, ruffling his feathers. It was enough to make a sane bird go entirely mad. It had been one crisis after another, and the rook wondered what new obstacle could possibly be waiting over the next horizon.
As if on cue, he smelled something in the air: a peculiar scent, sharp, yet oddly sweet. It was an odor that Edgar had not experienced since ...
In a corner of the study bordered by bookcases, the air began to distort, to shimmer and quake as something began to manifest.
"Here we go again," the rook whispered, transfixed to the sight of the dimensional doorway opening in the study of Argus Cade, providing some unknown intruder passage from someplace elseЧto here.
Edgar braced as the vortex of magic opened in the air, a blast of cold air and snow from the other side of the rift nearly knocking him from his perch atop the desk. Lifting a wing, he shielded his eyes from the blowing ice and snow, attempting to discern the shapes that were exiting from the magical rip torn in time and space.
Carefully he hopped toward the edge of the desk, closer to the study door. If necessary, he could make a quick dash to the door, get it open and warn Timothy and the others that they were in danger. If necessary, but something told the bird it wouldn't be the case.
They emerged from the dimensional portal, trembling figures clad in snow-covered armor, spilling into the warmth of the deceased mage's study. Edgar's suspicions as to who they were, and how they came to be in Argus Cade's study, were confirmed as the last of the armored figures stumbled from the portal floating in the air, followed by the large, bestial shape of Verlis.
Edgar experienced a wave of relief upon seeing his friend. They'd had no idea what had happened to him when Alhazred's Divide had fallen, and Raptus and his army had entered the world. It was good to see that he was safe, and that other members of the Tora'nah expedition had made it out safely as well. There were eight so far, and Edgar craned his neck from his perch to see if any more would follow Verlis into the room.
But there didn't seem to be any others.
The Wurm turned toward the whirlpool of magic, his fingers moving in the air before it, closing down the entryway.
The dimensional rip sealed with a thunderous clap, and Edgar took flight from the desk to glide around his friend's head.
"Verlis! Glad to see you in one piece," Edgar croaked. "Your family kept saying they were sure they would have known if you were dead, that you must still be alive, but I don't think Tim believed them."
Verlis looked at him then, his eyes filled with intensity.
"Take me to him," the Wurm said gravely. "Our darkest fears have come true. Bring me to Timothy at once."
It never seems to slow down, Edgar thought as he flew from the study, Verlis and the workers of Tora'nah following behind. From one thing to the next.
The life of a familiar. It's exhausting.