Книга только для ознакомления
.
The sibilant, withered voice said, "And I know you,
Glenshadow. You are the last." Blinding light blazed
where the crimson beam ended, and crackling thunder
rolled.
Glenshadow's beam receded, swallowed by a wave of
darkness that rushed toward Glenshadow. Rushed, then
hesitated. Wingover's mind reeled. Which Glenshadow?
There wasn't just one any more. There were three. Then
five. Then a dozen, and more. Myriad Glenshadows,
everywhere, all moving in perfect unison as they willed
their magics back upon the darkness centered at Kolan-
da's breast.
"Trickster!" the withered voice rasped. "Red-robe,
you'd fight me with illusion?" Blacknesses writhed out-
ward, seeking all the Glenshadows. "Die," the voice
whispered.
The blacknesses snaked out, and one by one the image
mages were gone... except one. As Wingover watched
that one grew to gigantic size. Hundreds of feet tall, his
stance spanning the nearby breaks, Glenshadow ab-
sorbed the blackness cast at him. It pierced him here,
there, searching, and lost itself in his vastness.
"Illusion," the withered voice hissed. "Can you do no
better than that?" The winds swirled, sizzling, and the
searching blackness grew. Great dark holes appeared in
the fabric of Glenshadow's massive image, and it
seemed to flutter in the wind, dissolving
|
