"Watt-Evans,.Lawrence.-.Ethshar.6.-.The.Spell.of.the.Black.Dag" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

But he hadn't. And when she'd asked he was always too busy, or too drunk. He promised a dozen times that he'd get around to it later, that he'd do something to set her up, but he never had. And her mother hadn't been any better, always busy with the twins, and on those rare and precious occasions when both the babies had been asleep she'd been too tired to go anywhere or do anything, and it wasn't an emergency, Tabaea was a big girl and could take care of herself. She could help Tabaea's sisters and half-brothers with their reading and numbers, but she couldn't leave the house, what if the twins woke up?

And then Tabaea's thirteenth birthday had come and it was too late, and old Cluros was the only one who'd been interested in her, and maybe it wasn't an official apprenticeship, maybe there wasn't any guild for burglars and lockbreakers, but it was better than nothing.

And better than a bed in the brothels in Soldiertown.

Besides, she wasn't sure she even had the looks or personality for a brothel; she was always nervous around other people. She might have wound up walking the streets instead and sleeping in the Wall Street Field when she couldn't find a customer who would keep her for the night. Maybe she should have run away, like her big brother Tand, but she never had.

So now she was a sneak thief. Which suited her just fine; she was good at not being noticed. She'd had plenty of practice, all those years staying out of her mother's way and avoiding her stepfather's temper when he was drinking.

At least she hadn't disappeared completely, like land, or their father. And her thieving had kept her fed when her stepfather wouldn't anymore. Thennis had taken to begging in Grandgate Market, and Tessa was spending a suspicious amount of time in Soldiertown, but Tabaea was taking care of herself just fine. Being a wizard or something else respectable and exciting would have been much better, certainly, but Tabaea wasn't going to complain. Her career in burglary had gotten her plenty of nice little things over the past two years.

For one thing, it had gotten her here, with a chance to spy on a wizard at some secret business in his cellar. Carefully, inch by inch, holding the knob so the hinges wouldn't creak, she opened the door.

Yes, there were stone steps going down, between gray stone walls. The glow of a distant lamp spilled in through an archway at the bottom, and threw Tabaea's shadow down the full length of the room behind her.

Cautiously, she descended the stairs, pausing on each step, watching and listening. The man's voice—the wizard's voice, she was sure—grew louder with each advance, droning on and on. And with each step she could see a little more of what lay beyond that arch.

There was a small square of stone floor and then steps to either side and a black iron railing straight ahead—the cellar went down even further into the ground!

At the bottom she hesitated. Straight ahead she could see through the archway into an immense chamber, lit by a great three-tiered chandelier. That chandelier was directly ahead of her, beyond the archway and the landing and the iron railing. She couldn't really see much of the space below.

But if she advanced any farther, out onto the landing, she would be terribly exposed.

She paused, listening, and realized she could make out words now.

". . . it's a part of you," the wizard was saying. "A part of your soul, your essence. It's not just some random energy, something mat anybody could provide, or that you could get from somewhere else."

For the first time Tabaea heard a second voice answering, a higher-pitched voice, a woman or a child. She didn't catch the words.

That was simply too fascinating to miss. She crept forward, crouching lower with each step. By the time she passed through the arch she was on her knees, and by the time she peered through the railing she was lying flat on her belly, hands braced to either side, ready to spring up if she was spotted.

The cellar, or crypt, or whatever it was lay before her, a single huge space. The stone-ribbed ceiling arched a dozen feet above her, and the floor twenty feet below—she realized that that floor must be thirty feet below ground, and marveled that the sea had not flooded it.

But then, the walls were massive stone barriers, sloped and buttressed to hold back the sand and water. Those great braced
walls enclosed a square thirty or forty feet on a side—the room was almost a cube, she decided. In the center of the far wall was a broad slate hearth below a fine smooth stone chimney; there were, of course, no windows. Heavy trestle tables were pushed against the walls, four of them in all.

The floor was more stone, and in the center a thick carpet was spread, and seated cross-legged on that carpet, facing each other, were two people—a man perhaps half a century in age, and a girl two or three years younger than Tabaea herself. The man wore a red silk robe and held a silver dagger; another dagger and a leather sheath lay on the carpet by his knee, and several other small objects were in a clutter to one side. The girl wore a simple white robe and sat with her hands empty, listening intently; the man was speaking.

"The edge will never dull, as long as you remain whole and strong," he said. "And the finish will stay bright as long as your spirits do." The girl nodded.

Tabaea stared. This was a wizard, beyond question—and his apprentice.

"If you can so much as touch it, it will cut any bonds put upon you, even heavy chains," the wizard continued."Physical bonds, at any rate—while it can dispel a minor geas, or ward off many spells, there are many others it will not affect."

Tabaea let the muscles of her arms ease a little. The two were intent on their conversation and would only notice her if she were to somehow draw their attention.

"Those are just side effects, of course," the wizard said. "Incidentals. I'm sure, after these past four months, you understand that."