"Karl Edward Wagner - Kane 06 - The Book Of Kane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

The Book of Kane



Karl Edward Wagner
CONTENTS




REFLECTIONS FOR THE WINTER OF
MY SOUL

MISERICORDE

THE OTHER ONE

SING A LAST SONG OF VALDESE

RAVENтАЩS EYRIE
REFLECTIONS FOR THE WINTER OF MY SOUL

Since it was obvious that the man was dying, the crowd of watchers had split apart, leaving only the
curious or those fascinated by the presence of death. Certainly no man could live with so ghastly a
wound; the wonder was that the mangled servant had survived as long as he had.

Outside, the blizzard gathered howling force with each minuteтАФa fury of white crystalline coldness
whose blasts penetrated the thick stone walls, raced through dark hallways and billowed the heavy
tapestries. Its coldness forced entrance deep within the castle, into this crowded room where an attentive
circle of eyes stared down at the thing that gasped futilely in its pool of spreading crimson.

He was one of the baronтАЩs servants, a very minor member of the household, whose usual task bad been
to care for the stables. The blizzard had come with the nightfall, storming suddenly out of the west as the
sun was dying. When its first stinging gusts had hit, the court had been filled with scurrying servants,
struggling to secure the animals and material within the outbuildings. One man had stayed behind the rest
to complete some errandтАФnone remembered what. His scream of terror had almost gone unheard by
the last of those stumbling back to the castle gate. But several men had staggered through the near
darkness and blinding winds to the darker figure lying in whirling white. They had borne his mangled body
into the castle with panic-sped steps, for no man had seen that which had attacked the human with such
savage suddenness and vanished again into the blizzard.

The victim lay close to the fire, partially lifted from the stone floor by an improvised pillow of rags. His
eyes gaped blankly in stark horror, and scarlet bubbles broke occasionally from his stack lips. Relentless
fangs had shredded the flesh about his throat and chest, foiled in their attempt to sever the carotids only
by the heavy fur cloak and the intervention of a protecting arm. This much could be determined from
scrutiny of the dying man, whose silence had been unbroken since that one shriek of mortal terror.
Several had pointed out that the servant probably could not speak even should he come out of shock, for
the awful wreckage of his throat would make speech most unlikely.

There seemed to be no end to the flow of blood that streamed through the rough bandages to glisten on