"Brust,.Steven.-.To.Reign.In.Hell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brust Steven)

basement of the Hold, had been scented with lilac.

The dog continued until he came to an archway. There was a small
chamber, with large green couches and overstuffed chairs. The
north wall held a burgundy-colored buffet, with cups and bottles of
cut glass and stoneware. The lamps were always low in this room,
but the dog heard the sounds of breathing, and smelled a friend.

He leapt onto a couch, facing this friend across a table of glass.
Neither spoke; the dog moved slightly toward the Regent, who was
seated with one leg on the table, his left arm across the back of the
couch, his right hand loosely holding a glass into which he was
staring. The dog caught a strong, sweet smell from the glass.

"'Tis but cheap wine, milord," he said.

"It fits my mood, friend Beelzebub. I'm feeling cheap today."

"Hath thy mood a cause, Lord?"

"All things have a cause, my friend."

"Would'st care to speak on't?"

His answer was silence. Beelzebub studied his friend as best he
could in the dim light. The Regent was smooth shaven and
somewhat dark of complexion. His hair was dark brown, almost
black, perhaps a bit wavy, and curled over the ears. His brows
were thick, his eyes narrow, yet wide-set, with shocking green
irises and lines of humor or anger around the edges. His jaw was
strong, his nose straight and pronounced; and he wore colors
matching his eyes beneath a cloak that was full and gold. Brown
boots covered his feet, and upon his chest was an emerald, as
large as his fist, on a chain of gold.

Beelzebub studied him for a moment longer. "Perchance 'twould
do thee good to speak, Lord Satan."

The Regent set down his wine glass, found a small bowl, and
poured into it.

"Maybe. Drink."

The dog moved forward on the couch, sniffed, but kept his opinion
to himself. He lapped up a bit and managed not to shudder.

"What do you, friend Beelzebub, think of Yaweh's plans regarding
the Fourth Wave?"

"Milord? Then it draweth nigh?"