"Debra Doyle & James MacDonald - Mageworlds 03 - By Honor Betray'd" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Debra)

“I know too much for you to kill me,” said Ransome, as if he had read the unspoken thought-as
perhaps he had. He was the Adept Master, and powerful enough that not even manacles wrought for that
purpose could render him entirely harmless. “What you want, Magelord, you’ll have to gain through your
own strength. There’s no Circle standing behind you here.”
“No,” agreed sus-Airaalin. The Mages of his Circle had given themselves into his control and his
protection; he would not repay their faith by using them so. He unclipped the silver-and-ebony rod that
hung from his belt and, stooping, laid it on the dull metal floor. “Nor will I forget myself and make this into
a contest for lordship.”
“You spoke differently at Prime Base.”
“I offered you challenge then according to our way,” sus-Airaalin told him. “And you refused.
There is never a second challenge. That, also, is according to our way.”
Irony flickered in the Adept Master’s dark eyes. “And is this?”
sus-Airaalin didn’t answer. Instead he drew in all his strength-like a man preparing for some
physical exertion, though no part of his body moved-and struck at the gates of Errec Ransome’s mind.
It was like battering his fists against the barred and metal-bound doors of some massive
citadel-like trying to break down the portal of the great Retreat itself. Wall upon wall it rose above him,
tower upon tower, secret upon secret.
A cold wind tore the air about him, keening among the mountain crags. Black clouds spread out
like ragged banners across the sky overhead. sus-Airaalin was alone. He longed to call upon the strength
of his Circle, but he did not dare. He had laid his staff aside to keep that temptation from him.
Whatever happens, I will not give over those who have trusted me into the hands of the
enemy.
He struck again at the ironwood gates. His knuckles split and bled with the force of the blow. He
struck a third time, and the great gate splintered and fell open. sus-Airaalin stepped through the gap and
entered into the citadel of the Breaker of Circles.
Within was desolation: courtyards empty of everything but blowing dust; rooms that held only
sticks of broken furniture; dark halls leading nowhere except to doors locked strongly against further
passage. One by one, sus-Airaalin smashed the doorways open, forcing his way into deserted chambers
where nothing lived besides an echo of voices.
Is this all there is? He fought against a surge of bitter, irrational anger. The Master of the Guild
should have more to guard than dirt and rubble.
He suppressed the thought and went on, searching always further down and inward. At last he
came to a door that swung open easily when he put his hand against it. Inside, he found another barren
space, this one empty except for the man who knelt there in meditation, with his back to a solid wooden
door.
The man lifted his head. sus-Airaalin realized that he was facing Errec Ransome, as the Master of
the Adepts’ Guild might look if he lived another three decades or more. The sleek black hair was dulled
with grey; the dark eyes were deep-set and shadowed in a worn and furrowed face. He followed
sus-Airaalin’s gaze past him to the locked door.
“Yes,” he said. “What you look for is there.”
“How do you know?”
The old man laughed. There was an edge of madness in the sound. “How could I not, my lord
sus-Airaalin? You told me yourself with every lock and barrier you broke.”
“Master Ransome,” sus-Airaalin said. “Open the door. Or I will break it and you together.”
The old man looked at him. sus-Airaalin heard the ghost of laughter in his breath. “Very well, my
lord. It isn’t locked. Open it yourself, if you want.”
“I will,” sus-Airaalin told the old man. He strode forward and swung open the door. There was
nothing behind it but a blank wall of grey stone. Again sus-Airaalin heard the faint sound of Errec
Ransome’s voiceless laughter.
“You have your answer,” Ransome said. “What you look for, you will not find. This place will