"Paul B. Thompson - Magic The Gathering - Masquerade Cycle 02 - Nemesis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Paul B)

Paul B. Thompson
"Nemesis"

(Magic: the Gathering. Masquerade cycle. Book II.)



OVERTURE
LENS

The ever-gray sky of Rath darkened from pearl to slate
before the agent moved. He'd spent a day and a night in his
hiding place, molded into a crevice between two large trees.
His hooded shroud took on the color and texture of bark, and
the special unguent on his hands and face had the same
mimetic properties. While he was hidden, elves of the
village had passed within arm's length of him. He could have
struck them down with impunity, but such were not his
orders. He had a specific target, and his new masters did
not tolerate deviation. As shadows lengthened in the
Skyshroud Forest, the agent stirred his stiff, aching limbs.
His legs burned with the sensation of a thousand needles
pricking his skin, but with his altered senses he was able
to block out the discomfort, just as he disregarded any
feelings of hunger, fear, or remorse.
Villagers went about their evening tasks. Greenish light
from their foxfire lamps filtered down, and for a moment the
agent froze, startled by his own faint shadow on the black
water beneath the trees. He craned his hooded head and saw
the tree dwellers pass unconcernedly over him, scaling their
vine ladders and bridges with practiced ease.
The large tree house in the center of the settlement was
his target. The village had been denuded of warriors by the
recent attack on the Stronghold, but a lone elderly elf in
snakeskin armor leaned against the doorway of the target's
home.
Don't underestimate him, his master's voice whispered
inside his head. What strength elves lose in age, they make
up for in skill.
He gave the old guard wide berth, circling under the
plank porch to the far side of the tree. The enormous swamp
elm, a living pillar twenty feet wide, ran straight through
the center of the house. On the trunks of their tree houses
the elves cultivated a special type of gray-green lichen. It
looked harmless, but when pressed, it exuded an oil that
made the tree too slippery to climb. Under ordinary
circumstances it was meant to keep out hostile merfolk and
large predatory snakes.
Beneath his chameleon shroud, the agent wore two pairs
of black cloth pads. One set had finger loops for his hands,