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

"Grandmaster Nicodemus," they said in unison. "Kind thoughts on this most troubling of days."
"On this and all days," she responded with a short bow.
The female sentry motioned with her arm for Cassandra to pass and she did so, following the long corridor to the large parliamentary chamber at its end. She heard the commotion even before she entered, voices raised in heated discussion.
She entered the vast, circular chamber and caught sight of Alethea Borgia, Grandmaster of the Tantrus Order and reigning Voice of Parliament, standing on the dais in the center. All around her was chaos, the chatter almost deafening. The room was the heart of the Xerxis, and its walls went all the way up to the apex of the tower itself. The grandmasters of Parliament, raging in argument, played havoc with the room's acoustics.
Cassandra walked down an aisle into the room, approaching the center stage and the Voice.
Alethea turned her eyes from the commotion to take notice of her arrival. The Voice appeared much older somehow than the last time Cassandra had seen her.
"Welcome to Parliament, Grandmaster Nicodemus," the Voice said, gesturing toward the commotion with no small irony.
Cassandra glanced around her at the chaos in the room. She had been to only a few of the parliamentary gatherings, but they had never been like this. "What ... what's happening?"
The Voice laughed sadly. "This is what we have come to," she said with a shake of her head. "I could control them no longer. Their passions have gotten the better of them, and they no longer seem to remember that they are supposed to be above such behavior, shining examples to the world in which we live. I thought rather than steal their voices away yet again, I ought to let them bluster until they're tired of it themselves."
Cassandra watched as the other grandmasters ranted and raved, and suddenly felt very, very afraid for the world in which she lived. "What has divided them so?"
"Foolishness. Though the danger has been shown to them, some still do not believe in the threat of the Wurm." The silver-haired woman looked to Cassandra, her eyes filled with intensity. "Some actually believe it to be some sort of conspiracy put in motion by the Cade boy in order to turn us against one another."
"That's insane."
"Yes, isn't it?"
Cassandra was furious; how dare they act this way in a time of crisis? She was about to demand that they stop acting like children, when a booming voice filled the chamber.
"Brothers and sisters of Parliament, I bring you grave news!"
From an entrance at the back of the chamber, a man stumbled toward them. His clothing was in tatters and appeared to be burned in places.
"Who?" she whispered, not realizing that she had spoken aloud.
"A. parliamentary scout," the Voice replied. "I sent him to the south, along with four others, to verify the existence of the Wurm threat."
The man stumbled toward them, falling to his knee before the Voice. Cassandra could see a look of terror in his eyes as he gazed about the room. The chamber was abuzz, the appearance of the scout enough to distract those who had been locked in raging arguments mere seconds before.
"What is it?" the Voice inquired. "Share what you have seen so that we may all come to understand the danger we face."
The man grabbed his head as if in agony. "It was horrible...." He gasped. "From Tora'nah they are advancing ... the Wurm are traveling north . . . traveling toward Arcanum!"
Lord Foxheart, Grandmaster of the Malleus Guild, left his seat, stepping into the aisle so that he might be noticed, his ratlike features contorted with disdain and anger. "What proof do you have, other than your word?"
The room again erupted into frenzy, but Lord Foxheart quickly silenced them. "The Malleus Guild headquarters in Taboluth is located northeast of Tora'nah and as of now, I have heard nothing of this Wurm advancement."
The scout rose to his feet, face lined with fear. "It's not there anymore!" he cried, grabbing his head again as if to keep it from breaking apart.
Foxheart seemed not to understand.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "I don't understand whatЧ"
The scout rushed up the aisle. "Listen to me. It's gone ... the Malleus Guild headquarters is gone . .. destroyed by the Wurm as they progress north."
Foxheart went white, his mouth agape. All the argument was drained from him.
"Listen to me, all of you!" the scout shouted, stumbling in a circle, trying his best to be certain that every guild member could hear his warning. "The Wurm are coming, of this there is no doubt, and they are stronger than we first imagined. Much, much stronger."
With his warning finally spoken, the scout's eyes rolled back in his head, his body went limp, and he fell unconscious in the middle of the aisle.
The meeting chamber fell silent.
CHAPTER SIX
Still clinging to the back of the stolen prison transport, Ivar lost himself deep in meditation. His muscles burned with effort, his mind with the need to sleep. His whole body seemed to itch. Hunger and thirst assailed him. But with his meditation he was able to retreat within himself, to separate himself from those physical troubles. It was necessary if he was to hold on.
But he knew that he could not hold on indefinitely. He had thought Grimshaw might land to find something to eat or drink, but it was clear the mage was driven by obsession and would not stop until he had reached his goal. Ivar had no choice. He would cleanse his mind and relax his body through meditation, and as soon as the purification of his thoughts was complete, he would find his way into the transport. He could not wait until Grimshaw reached the Wurm invaders. He had to force Grimshaw to bring the craft down to land.
Ivar's eyes snapped open, senses alert to a sound that seemed to come from all around him; a sound only too familiar. The flapping of leathery wings. His flesh reacted quicker than thought, darkening the surface of his skin so that he would blend with the hull of the transport.
Grimshaw would not need to travel all the way to Tora'nah to meet with the Wurm, it seemed. Raptus's army was already moving north, and far more swiftly than Ivar would have expected.
The Wurm darted through the air around the transport, harrying the vehicle, preparing either to force Grimshaw to land or to burn him out of the sky. Ivar was grateful that he was invisible to them, at least for the moment. He felt his warrior's blood pulse in his veins, but there was nothing he could do at that moment, trapped, clinging onto the back of the craft as the enemy circled its prey.
The transport began to slow and then to halt, hovering over a barren section of rocky hills and skeletal forest.
What are you doing, Grimshaw? The madman had just made their craft an even easier target for the Wurm.
"What have we here, brother?" he heard one of the beasts growl, wings flapping as he hovered in the air before the transport. Another of the Wurm soldiers had joined him, hanging in the frigid air, his own pounding wings keeping him aloft.
"Easy prey," the other snarled, and the two laughed in unison, streams of fire and steam erupting from their mouths and nostrils.
As if their amusement were infectious a third Wurm flying about the craft began to laugh as well, the sound of their humor like stones being ground together. Liquid fire bubbled in their mouths as they prepared to engulf the transport in the flame from their gullets. Ivar experienced a complete sense of helplessness, an emotion that was not common for him, and he felt his rage grow.
He began the prayers to his ancestors that would help him on his way to the life after this one, a life free of fire-breathing lizards and dark wizards.
From the corner of his eye he saw it, another Wurm flying in from the south to join its brethren; only this one appeared much larger. Ivar nearly lost his grip when he recognized the new arrival, head clad in a helmet of black metal, fire like lava dripping from his maw.
Raptus.
"What do we have here?" Raptus thundered, as he darted back and forth in front of the craft.
Ivar narrowed his eyes. Though he could not pinpoint what, precisely, it seemed to him that there was something different about the Wurm. He had encountered Raptus in the hellish realm of Draconae, where he had briefly been imprisoned in the volcanic city of the Wurm.
"The afternoon meal," one of the soldiers muttered, snickering under his breath, smoke rising from his nostrils.
Raptus sneered, opened his jaws, and let loose an enormous gout of flame that engulfed the soldier in midflight. The soldier shrieked in pain as the flames spread across his skin, charring his wings. Unable to stay aloft, the burning Wurm spiraled down, down and down, leaving an oily trail of smoke in his passing.
"This is a time for war," their general snarled, looking at the other soldiers flying about the transport. "There is nothing at all amusing about that."