"Sorcerer's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Phyllis Eisenstein)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



For Martha Eisenstein

with gratitude

for her love and encouragement





CHAPTER ONE


Behind his walls of demon-polished bronze, behind his windows so closely shuttered with copper scales that no sunlight penetrated, Smada Rezhyk brooded over a leaf. It was a bit of ivy, small enough to fit within the palm of his hand, and written upon it in letters spun of gray spidersilk was the single word, “No.” A snake had deposited the leaf at the gate of Rezhyk’s castle, and he needed no signature upon the smooth green surface to tell him who had sent the message.

His footsteps rang against the floor—studded boots upon the mirror-bright metal—as he strode to the workshop, to the brazier that had never cooled since the instant Castle Ringforge had been completed. His band passed above the flames, let go the leaf, which danced briefly in the upwelling heat until the fire caught it, curled it, shriveled it to ash.

In the flickering light, the jewels upon his fingers sparkled, the plainer bands gleamed warm; each ring was a demon at his command—a demon of fire, a demon to build or destroy at his whim. He tallied them slowly, his only friends in the universe. Then he summoned one, the first and best of them all, faithful companion since his youth; the simplest ring, red gold, was inscribed with that demon’s secret name: Gildrum

From some other part of Ringforge, Gildrum came in human guise, entering by the door as a human would. In appearance, the demon was a fourteen-year-old girl, slight and pretty, with long blond braids. Rezhyk had given her that semblance when they were both young, and only he had changed with the passage of the years. He kept her near him most of the time and spoke his heart to her. She climbed atop a high stool by the brazier and waited for him to begin the conversation.

He was toying with glassware, with notebooks and pens and ink. He had not yet glanced up at her when he said, “She refused me.”

In a high, fluty voice, Gildrum said, “Please accept my sympathy, lord.”

“She refused me, Gildrum!” He turned to face the demon-girl, lines of anger set around his mouth. “I made her an honorable offer!”

“You did, my lord.”

“Am I ugly? Are my manners churlish? Is my home unfit for such as she?”

“None of that, my lord.”

“What have I done, then? How have I offended her? When? Where?”

“My lord,” said Gildrum, “I do not profess to understand humans completely, but perhaps she is merely disinclined to marry anyone.”

“You are too soft, my Gildrum.” He leaned on a stack of notebooks, forehead braced against his interlaced fingers. “She hates me, I know it. It was a cold reply, brought by a cold creature. She meant to wound me.”

“And has succeeded.”

“For a moment only! Now I know my enemy. We must take precautions, my Gildrum, to make certain she never can wound me again.”

The demon shrugged. “Never again ask her to marry you.”

“Not enough! Who knows what evil she fancies I have done her? I must protect myself.”