Книга только для ознакомления
. Sinking into it weakly, Raistlin
gestured for the young man to pour him another glass of
wine. The archmage leaned his head back wearily into the
cushions. "I need time . . ." he continued, moistening his
lips with the wine. "Time to train you, my apprentice. Time
to train you .. . and to train your brothers."
"My brothers?" Palin repeated in astonishment.
"Why, yes, young one." Amusement tinged Raistlin's
voice as he looked at the young man standing by his chair.
"I need generals for my legions. Your brothers will be
ideal-"
"Legions!" Palin cried. "No, that's not what I meant!
You must come home to live with us in peace. You've
earned it! You sacrificed yourself for the world-"
"H" Raistlin interrupted. "I sacrificed myself for the
world?" The archmage began to laugh-dreadful, fearful
laughter that set the shadows of the laboratory dancing in
delight like demons. "Is that what they say of me?" Raistlin
laughed until he choked. A coughing fit seized him, this one
worse than the others.
Palin watched helplessly as his uncle writhed in pain.
The young man could still hear that mocking laughter
dinning in his ears. When the spasm passed, and he could
breathe, Raistlin lifted his head and, with a weak motion of
his hand, beckoned Palin near.
Palin saw blood upon the cloth in his uncle's hand, blood
flecked Raistlin's ashen lips. Loathing and horror came over
the young man, but he drew nearer anyway, compelled by a
terrible fascination to kneel down beside his uncle
|
