Книга только для ознакомления
.
A cloud of dust shot forth from the hand of the cult
leader. Rennard stopped. The assassins leaned forward in
expectation, awaiting the horrible death that soon would
come to the knight.
He did not need to look down to see that the poison had
ended up settling on the ground beneath his feet. "I am
beyond your deadly trick, mortal. The poison dust affects
only those who still draw breath. I am long past that."
He stepped closer, enabling them, even in the dim light
of Solinari, to see him clearly.
Not entirely certain whether what they saw was truly
what they saw, two of the acolytes drew daggers. If the
blades were as Rennard recalled, each was coated with one
of the cult's concoctions.
The nearest thrust his dagger into the ghost's throat.
The weapon found no substance.
The acolyte dropped his dagger, turned, and fled. An other
joined him.
"Who are you, phantom?" the Nightmaster demanded.
"One who knows your ways, servant of Morgion. One
who once went by the name Rennard."
His name meant nothing to the acolytes who dared to
remain, but the Nightmaster reacted with glee. "Rennard -
still called Oathbreaker by the knighthood! He has sent you
to me as a sign! Our work has not been in vain. Our Lord
Morgion has not abandoned us after all! The lies that the
gods left Krynn have been disproved! All our sacrifices, all
the lives we have sent to our lord, have at last won his
notice again!" He eyed Dornay's still form with pleasure.
"We must do something special for you, Sir Knight
|
