"Dave Duncan - A Handful Of Men 3 - The Stricken Field" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

“I’m married.”

“So? You still look good enough to eat.” She smiled seductively, but the effect was spoiled by her
sharpened teeth. Rap’s self-control came back with a rush.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!” he said firmly, and slipped by her. He splashed through the stream into the
castle. The largest bonfire was the size of a small cottage, and its glare blinded him. The noise of drums
and singing was mind-crippling, and the tumult in the ambience even worse. Forty or so sorcerers and
mages were making merry, and that must be a rare event in the history of the world. Until now, power
had always brought danger, and the sorcerous had been reclusive people. This infant brotherhood he
had created was changing the rules already.

He must not claim all the credit—Thrugg had not enslaved him, despite his greater power, and Tik Tok’s
band had kept their individual freedom—but it was Rap’s vision of a society of free sorcerers that had
inspired this party.

What a party! Had Pandemia ever seen its like? Incandescent dragons circled near the roof. Naked troll
maidens were dancing erotically—and it took him a moment to realize that they were illusory, as was the
band of anthropophagous muscle men parodying them on the other side. A fountain of wine was
spouting into the stream. The air was filled with smoke and colored balls and half a dozen albatrosses
and giant bats, apparently playing some sort of team game. A bewildered camel brayed in terror on a
high ledge. The great chamber was a madhouse of mirth and foolery.

Trolls and anthropophagi? Probably there had never been such a meeting before. Were they mundanes,
half the gathering would be cooking the other half, but these were sorcerers, united in a common cause.
So far. They were all drunk on magic. Was he just being a nervous maiden aunt, or could he already
detect dangerous undertones in the horseplay? If it went too far, there were no limits on what might
happen. And even if it didn’t, there would be the emotional hangover when it ended and reality returned.
Poor old worrywart Aunt Rap!

He checked the upstream rooms and discovered several strange orgies in progress, some of the
participants real and some occult. In an obscure chamber he located the people he wanted. Of course
there was no such thing as privacy around sorcerers, but the little room was secluded—off the main
stream, watered only by seepage. He transported himself there, into calm and sanity. Or maybe not.

Grunth was reclining in an elaborate chair large enough to be called a throne, decked out like an impress
in jewels and scarlet satin. Her tiara flashed with a fortune in rubies and sapphires; her great clawed feet
were encased in golden sandals. She beamed a toothy baboon snarl at him and he saw that she was
drunk.

Tik Tok sprawled in a wicker chair, wearing a blissful idiot look of extreme intoxication. He had
rearranged his tattoos in yellow and magenta, and festooned his hair with pink rosebuds. He was
gnawing on a juicy bone that Rap carefully did not inspect carefully.

Thrugg had chosen to squat on the floor as usual, nude as usual, munching noisily on nuts and roots. He
looked up with a sour glance that was very unusual—for him—and must mean trouble.

The fourth member of the party was Doctor Sagorn. Darad had needed little persuading to make him
depart from such alarming company, and he had summoned the old jotunn in his place. The scholar sat