"Michael A. Stackpole - Dragon Crown Saga 3 - When Dragons Rage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stackpole Michael A)

being watched unseen. Kerrigan tried to pull his head back, push his hands down, but found
his body locked in a rictus as hard as the magickal armor that would rise through his flesh to
protect him.
You are but a boy.
 The words came softly, whispered and insubstantial, yet seeming to pierce the red haze
that denned his world. He had no sense of his body, and yet no sense of freedom. It was as
if his entire being drifted amorphously behind the point of his vision. He wanted to turn and
look, to see if he could find whoever it was that spoke to him, but he couldnтАЩt.
There is nothing to see, boy, because you are within.
Two things came to Kerrigan immediately. First, he knew that whoever was speaking
was reading his thoughts. He tried to shield them, but even the most rudimentary protection
was knocked aside like a dry leaf before a gust of wind.
The second thing would have set him to trembling except that his body could not move.
The words filled his mind like the swell of a wave, but they were but the foam at the crest:
translated, distilled, strained, and predigested so he could grasp them. Beneath surged
unprecedented power.
A million questions raced through his mind. Though he could make no sense of the
chaos, the speaker тАФ a female, of this he was certain тАФ sorted through them as if they
were a handful of coins. Trickles of something that might be amusement caressed him. He
sought to concentrate.
More amusement met this effort. You are quite learned, boy, but not yet wise. You are a
child in your fatherтАЩs clothing, playing at being a man .
The words тАФ тАЬboy,тАЭ тАЬchild,тАЭ тАЬfather,тАЭ and тАЬmanтАЭ тАФ rolled around in KerriganтАЩs mind. They
had some of the nuances conferred on them by common convention, but there was more as
well. He would have expected a sharper contrast between boy and man, yet both came
tainted with a sense of youth, even infancy. Father and child should have possessed a
greater affinity for each other, but instead there was a dislocation. It was as if father was
used to acknowledge a biological connection with child, but hinted at none of the nurturing
and education a parent would provide.
Kerrigan again focused. Who are you ?
Mirth came full, but carried with it a whiplash sting. Names have power, as well you
know. But names have no power now, for us. We are players being played. Pawns. Our
destinies intersect and spin away, then curl back again to fuse or destroy .
He less heard the words than got a sense of soaring, wheeling, looping, and diving, as a
bird might, riding the buffeting winds above a cliff. The sensation initially left him feeling light
and quick, then, at the last, hit hard and he spun out of control.
A gentle presence caressed his mind and peace returned. Forgive me, boy, for I have
long been without company and have forgotten my strength .
Kerrigan shivered. IтАЩm not a boy. And not a pawn .
No pawn ever sees himself as a pawn.
Who controls me?
тАШTis not so simple a game, Kerriganreese. Many play, many exert control. Ours is not
to resist, but to know when we are being controlled. We cannot determine where we will fall,
but perhaps how we will fall.
Confusion ripped through his mind. He had grown up with cryptic remarks galore on
Vilwan; such was the way of wizards. He had always assumed these things were largely
bluff, but here he was reading ripples on the surface of a deep ocean. While he wanted to
know more, he also knew heтАЩd drown.
Perhaps wiser after all . The words warmed him. You know much must be done. You
cannot do it alone. You are stronger than even you think, but your strength comes from