"Thomas E. Sniegoski - Aerie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sniegoski Thomas E)

"Call me crazy," the prisoner said conversationally as he gestured with his chin beyond theconfines of his
prison, "but even locked away in here I can feel that something is happening."

Verchiel found himself drawn toward thecage. "Go on."

"You know how it feels before a summerstorm?" the prisoner asked. "How the air ischarged with an
energy that tells you somethingbig is on the way? That's how it feels to me. Thatsomething really big is
coming." The prisoner continued to pet the vermin's head, waiting forsome kind of confirmation. "Well,
what do you think, Verchiel?" he asked. "Is there a storm on the way?"

The angel could not help but boast. His planswere reaching fruition and he felt confident."More deluge
than storm," Verchiel respondedas he turned his back upon the captive. "Whenthe NephilimтАФthis Aaron
CorbetтАФis finally putdown, a time of change will be upon us." He strode to a haphazardly boarded
window andpeered through the cracks at theNew Englandsummer night with eyes that saw through dark
ness as if it were day.

"With the savior of their blasphemousprophecy dead, all of the unpunished criminalsof the Great War,
driven to despair by the realization that their Lord of Lords willnot forgivethem, will at last be hunted
down and executed." Verchiel turned from the window togaze at his prize. "That is what you are feeling in
the air, Son of the Morning. The victory of thePowersтАФmy victory."

The prisoner brought the mouse up to hismouth and gently laid a kiss upon its tinypointed head. "If you
say so, but it doesn't feellike that to me. Feels more special than that," hesaid. The mouse nuzzled his chin
and the prisoner chuckled, amused by the tiny creature'sshow of affection.

Verchiel glided toward the cage, a cold smileforming on his colorless lips. "And what couldbe more
special than the Nephilim dying at thehands of his sibling?" he asked the prisonercruelly. "We have spared
nothing in our pursuit to destroy him."

The prisoner shook his head disapprovingly."You're going to use this kid's brother to killhim? That's
cold, VerchielтАФeven for someonewith my reputation."

The angel smiled, pleased by the twistedcompliment. "The child was a defective, a burden to the world
in which he was bornтАФthat is,until I transformed him, forged him into aweapon with only one purpose: to
kill theNephilim and every tainted ideal that he represents." He paused for dramatic effect, studyingthe
expression of unease upon the captive's gauntface. "Cold?" Verchiel asked. "Most assuredly, for to bring
about the end of this conflict I must be the coldest one there is."

The mouse had defecated in the prisoner'shand and he casually wiped it upon his robe ofheavy brown
cloth. "What makes this NephilimтАФthis Aaron CorbetтАФany different from the thousands of others
you've killed over the millennia?"

Verchiel recalled his battle with this supposed savior, the ancient angelic sigils that covered his flesh, his
ebony wings, the savagery ofhis combat skills. "There is nothing special aboutthis one," he sneered. "And
those of the fallenwho cling to the belief that he is the savior ofprophecy must be shown this."

He remembered how they battled within thestorm he himself had conjured, weapons of heavenly fire
searing the very air. It was to be a killingblow; his sword of fire poised to sever the blasphemer's head
from his body. And then, inexplicably, lightning struck at Verchiel, and he fellfrom the sky in flames. The