"Karl Edward Wagner - Kane 01 - Darkness Weaves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

language of the Combine, and of the others, only one was in a language that looked even vaguely familiar.
One very old one was extremely unusual, for the strange characters on its pages did not quite appear to
have been handwritten. Imel wondered what type of book would seem so interesting to Kane that he
would have transported several of them to the crypt. It was surprising enough to see that Kane could
actually read, mused Imel. What little information he had compiled gave Kane the reputation of being a
rugged and skillful warrior--a violent personality by all accounts. In Imel's experience, such a man usually
was contemptuous of anything concerned with the arts.

Idly he looked through one of the two volumes written in the language of the Combine. Suddenly his
eyes were held by a page filled entirely by a strange diagram. Startled, he slowly read the script on the
page opposite and found his suspicions verified. With horror he shut the book and abruptly set it down.
A grimoire. Was Kane then a sorcerer as well as a soldier? Imel remembered Arbas's warning and
began to feel fear.

He looked at Arbas and found the assassin grinning at him over his dagger. Sidelong he had been
watching Imel and had seen the sudden terror in his eyes. Anger at revealing his emotions flooded Imel,
washing away the fear--fear, he told himself, that any sane man feels when confronted with the
paraphernalia of black sorcery.

"Stop your stupid smirking!" he snarled at Arbas, who merely chuckled in reply. Cursing fervently, the
Thovnosian paced the chamber. By Tloluvin! He was a fool ever to have undertaken this mission--a fool
ever to have become involved in her insane schemes! Realizing that he was fast losing control, he halted
and struggled to regain his composure.

"Is Kane going to get here or not?" he demanded.

Arbas shrugged; he seemed to be getting impatient himself. "Perhaps he doesn't realize we're here yet,"
he offered. "Let's just take a lantern and show its light out on the ledge for a bit. I doubt if anyone other
than Kane is around here to see it on a night like this." So saying, he picked up his battered lantern and
moved toward the curtain wall.

They had just gone through the curtain and were starting toward the tunnel's mouth when an extended
burst of chain lightning split the midnight skies and threw a flickering bluish light on the figure just entering
the crypt. Startled, Imel was unable to suppress a gasp at the sight of the looming cloaked figure
silhouetted darkly against the lightning-blasted torrent. Arbas's words at their first meeting flashed through
Imel's mind: Look for him in the Seventh Hell! Truly, this nightmarish scene could justifiably be that of a
demon--or Lord Tloluvin himself--emerging from the Seventh Hell.

For the space of a heartbeat the lightning gave hellish illumination upon the figure. No features were
discernible in the glare. He appeared only as a black shadow, the wind whipping his rain-drenched cloak
and garments, his powerful body braced against the storm. His drawn sword glinted in the lightning, as
did his eyes--sinister spots of fire in the darkness.

Then the lightning burst faded, and the figure stalked into the crypt. "Get that light under cover!" snapped
Kane.

Arbas moved the curtain aside, and Kane stepped through, flinging off his sodden cloak and shaking a
flood of water from his massive body. Cursing in some strange tongue, he poured himself a full cup of
wine, drained it, and began pouring another. "A beautiful storm, but drying out from it in this dank hole is
not to my liking," he growled between cups. "Arbas, see if that fire can be rekindled. The smoke won't