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

"Then why can't I move?" he whispered through clenched teeth.
"It was far easier for me to lay a general spell upon this entire camp than to be selective about it. Then I needed but arouse you and leave the others unconscious. The paralysis is, unfortunately, a part of it."
Pol suspected that this was a lie but saw no way to test it.
"I saw that your sleep was troubled. I decided to grant you some relief."
"How can you see that a man's sleep is troubled?"
"I am something of a specialist in that matter which confronts you."
"That being...?"
"Did your dream not involve a large door?"
Pol was silent for a moment. Then, "Yes," he said. "It did. How could you know this unless you induced it yourself?"
"I did not cause your dream. I did not even come here for purposes of releasing you from it."
"What, then?"
"You journey to Belken."
"You seem to know everything. ..."
"Do not be impertinent. As our interests may be conjoined, I am trying to help you. I understand more than you do about some of the forces which are influencing you. You make a serious mistake, wandering about the world announcing yourself at this point in your career. Now, I have just taken great pains to remove the memory of your name and origin from the minds of Ibal and everyone in his party. In the morning, he will only recall you as a Madwand traveling to Belken. Even your appearance will be a confusion to him. If he should ask your name again, have another one ready, and use it in Belken, also. Rondoval still has its enemies."
"I gathered something of this with the attempt on my life."
"When was this? Where?"
"A little over a week ago. Back home."
"I was not aware of this. Then it has begun. You should be safe for a time, if you remain incognito. I am going to rinse your hair with a chemical I have here, to conceal that white streak. It is too distinctive. And then we must hide your dragonmark."
"How?"
"A relatively simple matter. How do you see manifestations of the Powers when you are working a spell?"
Pol felt moisture upon his scalp.
"Usually as colored strands--threads, strings, cords."
"Interesting. Very well, then. You can imagine me as wrapping your forearm with flesh-colored strands--so closely as to entirely mask the mark. It will in no way interfere with your workings. When you wish to uncover it you need but go through an unwrapping ritual."
Pol felt his arm taken, raised.
"Who are you?" he asked. "How do you know all these things?"
"I am the sorcerer who should never have been, and mine is a peculiar link with your House."
"We are related?"
"No. Not even friends."
"Then why are you helping me?"
"I feel that your continued existence may serve me. There. Your arm is nicely disguised."
"If you really wish to protect me from something, you might do well to tell me somewhat about it."
"I do not deem that the most fitting course of action. First, nothing may happen to you, in which case I would have exposed you to information I'd rather not. Second, ignorance on your part may actually benefit me."
"Mister, someone's already gotten my number. I don't like the notion of being suddenly engaged in another sorcerous duel."
"Oh, they're all right if you win. That was the nature of the assassination attempt?"
"Yes."
"Well, you're still intact."
"Just barely."
"Good enough, my boy. Keeps you alert. Now, perhaps we'd best coarsen your features a bit and lighten your eyes a trifle. Shall we have a wart beside your nose? No? An interesting scar on your cheek then? Yes, that should do it...."
"And you won't give me your name?"
"It would mean nothing to you, but your knowledge of it might trouble me later."
Pol willed the dragonmark to life, hoping his disguised arm would mask this from the other's second sight. The man voiced no reaction as the throbbing began. Pol sent the force up and down his right arm, freeing it from the paralysis. Then his neck. He had to be able to turn his head a bit. . . Best to leave the rest as it was for the moment. Catalepsy, he knew, is hard to fake.
The hands continued to move over his face. The other's face remained out of his field of vision. Pol summoned a tough, gray strand and felt its ghostly presence across his fingertips.
"Now they'll all think you've been to Heidelberg. ..."
"What," Pol asked him, "did you say?"
"An obscure reference," the other offered quickly. "A really good sorcerer has knowledge of places beyond this place, you know--"
Pol let the energy pulse through him, breaking the paralysis entirely. He rolled onto his side and directed a flash movement of the gray strand. It snaked upward and snared the man's wrists. As he tightened it, he began to rise.
"Now I will ask my questions again," Pol stated.
"Fool of a Madwand!" said the other.
The strand writhed in Pol's hand and a feeling like an electrical shock traveled up his arm. He could not release the thing and the dragonmark felt as if it were on fire. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
"You are very lucky," was the last thing he heard the man say before the storm reached his brain and he fell.