"Zelazny, Roger - Changeling Saga - 02 - Madwand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

As the pulse in his dragonmark overcame the numbness in his right arm, Pol sent his will through it, seeking a clearer image of his adversary. Immediately, the form of the other man began to glow, as the rainbow-work wove itself to closure. The room disappeared, and Pol became aware that his form, too, had become luminiscent.
The two of them faced one another across a private universe built entirely of moving colors.
Pol saw the man raise his hands, cupping them before him. Immediately, a green serpent raised its head from within them and slithered forth, moving in Pol's direction.
Pol could feel a raw creation force moving all about him. He reached out and up, beginning a rapid series of shaping movements. A huge, gray bird came into being between his hands. He laid his will upon it and released it. It flashed forward and dove upon the snake, catching at it with its talons, striking with its beak. The serpent twisted its body and struck at the bird, missing.
Looking past this contest, Pol saw that the man was now juggling a number of balls of colored light. Even as the bird rose, bearing the struggling snake in its talons, to flap upward and merge with the kaleidescopic field which surrounded them, Pol saw the man cast the first blazing ball in his direction.
Smiling, Pol shaped a tennis raquet and saw a look of puzzlement cross his adversary's features as he regarded the unfamiliar instrument.
He slammed the first ball back at the man just as the second was released. The sorcerer dropped the remaining balls and dove to the side to avoid the return. Pol batted the second one out-of-court as the man rolled forward and came to his feet, his right hand snapping outward, something long and black moving with it.
He swung the raquet and missed as the whip caught him about the neck and jerked him forward. He felt himself falling. Dropping the raquet, he reached for the choking thing that held him, to seize it, unwind it--
It jerked again and the world began to spin and darken. It continued to tighten, and he heard the sound of laughter, coming nearer...
"Not much of a contest," he heard the other say.
Then there was an explosion and everything went black.
It was instructive to observe the exchange of forces between Pol and the visitor. Also, mildly unsettling, as it occurred to me that they might be inducing pain in each other. Yet, they had wanted to do it or they wouldn't have. I was more interested in the manipulations than I was in their progressive wearing down of each other, because I felt that I might be able to engage in that sort of activity myself and I wished to be further informed. Its abrupt ending came as a surprise to me. Save for small, less complex creatures, I had not seen one being end another's existence. Indeed, it had not occurred to me that these larger ones could be ended. I felt as if I should have taken a part in it, though on which side and in which direction, I could not say. I was also uncertain as to why I felt this way.
Where there had been three there were now two. I did not understand why they had done it, nor how the lance of force had come from the statuette to terminate the stranger before Mouseglove's projectile reached his head.
Pol shook his head. His neck was sore. He rubbed it and opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor beside the desk. Slowly, he pushed himself into a seated position.
The stranger lay upon his back near the door, right arm outflung, left across his breast. A piece of his forehead was missing and his right eye was a crimson pool.
To his left, leaning against a bookshelf, Mouseglove stood rubbing his eyes. His right arm hung at his side and in his hand was the pistol he had carried away from Anvil Mountain. When he saw Pol move he dropped his left hand and smiled weakly.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I guess so. Except for a stiff neck. What about yourself?"
"I don't know what he hit me with. It affected my sight for awhile. When I came around, the two of you seemed to be pulsing into and out of existence. I wasn't able to get a shot at him till the last time he came through." He replaced the weapon in a holster behind his belt and moved forward, extending his hand. "Everything seems normal enough now."
Pol accepted his hand and rose. They both crossed the room and looked down at the dead man. Mouseglove immediately knelt and began searching him. After several minutes, he shook his head, unfastened the brown cloak and covered the man with it.
"Nothing," he said, "to tell who he is or why he came. I take it you have no idea?"
"None."
They returned to their seats and the wine flask, Mouse-glove restoring the fallen figurine on the way.
"Either he had some reason for disliking you and came by to do something about it," Mouseglove said, "or somebody else who feels that way sent him. In the first case, some friend of his might come along later to continue the work. In the second, another may be sent as soon as it is known that this one failed. Either way, it would appear that more trouble will be forthcoming."
Pol nodded. He rose and removed a book from a shelf high on the lefthand wall. He returned to his seat and began paging through it.
"This one got through all of your alarm spells without giving warning," Mouseglove continued.
"He was better than I am," Pol said, without looking up from the book.
"So what is to be done?"
"Here," Pol said, locating the page he sought and reading silently for a time. "I had been wondering about this for some time," he went on. "Every four years there is a gathering of sorcerers at Belken, a mountain to the northwest. Ever hear of it?"
"Of course--as a good thing to stay away from."
"It will begin in about two weeks. I've decided to attend."
"If they're all like this fellow--" Mouseglove nodded toward the form upon the floor. "--I don't think it would be a very good idea."
Pol shook his head.
"The description makes it sound rather peaceful. Advanced practicioners discuss theory with one another, apprentices are initiated, rites involving more than one sorcerer get tried out, exotic articles are traded and sold, new effects demonstrated ..."
"The person behind this attempt on your life may be there."
"Exactly. I'd like to settle this quickly. It may all be some sort of misunderstanding. After all, I haven't been around long enough to have made any real enemies. And if the one I seek isn't there, I may learn something about him--if there is such a person. Either way, it makes it seem worthwhile."
"And that will be your only reason for going?"
"Well, no. I also feel the need for some formal training in the Art. Perhaps I can pick up a few pointers at something like that."
"I don't know, Pol ... It sounds kind of risky."
"Not going may prove even more dangerous in the long run."
They heard a scraping noise and a popping sound from the courtyard. Both rose and moved to the window. Looking downward, they saw nothing. Pol seemed to stroke the air with his fingertips.
"The man's mount," he said finally. "It's freed itself of whatever restraints he'd laid upon it and is preparing to depart." He moved his hand rapidly, raising the other one as well, "Maybe I can get a line on it, trace it back to where it came from."
The lesser kin of the dragon rose in the northeast and swept through a wide, rising arc, leftward.
"No good," Pol said, lowering his hands. "Missed him."
Mouseglove shrugged.
"I guess you won't be going with me," he said, "if you'll be heading for that convocation, in the other direction."
Pol nodded.
"I'll leave tomorrow, too, though. I'd rather be moving about than staying in one place between now and then. So we can take the trail for a little way together."
"You won't be riding Moonbird?"
"No, I want to see something of the countryside, too."