"Alan Dean Foster - Catechist 3 - A Triumph Of Souls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

I

“He is coming. And he is not alone.”

So spake the Worm.

It had started out to be a better day. Waking after a passable night’s rest in a less discontented mood than
usual, Hymneth the Possessed had chosen to dress in armor and accoutrements that were celebratory
instead of intimidating. Gold-trimmed leggings tucked tightly into high boots of dark-crimson embossed
leather. Scarlet armor covered him from head to thigh, and rubies so red they were almost black studded
the gloves that encased his bare hands. Instead of horns, the high-ridged crimson helmet with its
rearward-sweeping feathered crest gave him the appearance of some great and noble raptor diving to
Earth.

Eyeing the result in the narrow floor-to-ceiling mirror at the far end of his dressing chamber, he found
that he was well pleased with the effect. Today he would inspire only awe among his servitors and
subjects, and leave terror in the closet.

At his high-pitched, intricate call, the twin eromakadi ceased their hunting of small bright things beneath
the massive bed and came to heel. Intricately filigreed satin cape swirling behind him, he exited the
sleeping chamber in a flurry of gold and crimson and made his way downstairs.

As usual, he ate alone, attended only by silent servants desperate to be free of his company but unable to
show their true feelings. Their frozen smiles and polite inquiries after his health fooled him for not a
minute. Their fear was as plain to hear in their voices as if they had been bound and bleeding in his
presence. The slight tremolo at the end of every sentence, the swift darting of eyes whenever they
thought he was not looking, the infinitesimal quiver of lower lips: Their emotions were as blatantly
obvious to him as bulging eyes and hacking sobs.

He ignored it all, pretending to be taken in by the pitiful subterfuges as they served him. These were the
best of the best, the few who could survive in his service without going mad or begging for dismissal. It
made no sense. Was he not a kind and even generous master? Other nobles of wealth and power
regularly beat their staff. Still others paid only a pittance for services rendered. In contrast to this, he was
tolerant of oversights and paid well. And, in addition, there was the prestige that went with working in
the house of the master of Ehl-Larimar. He could not understand why his people were not content.

Yes, it was necessary occasionally to discipline a menial for a job overlooked or poorly done. Yes, his
methods for doing so were undeniably—well, different. As in everything, he prized efficiency above all.
Why it should matter to people if a miscreant was crippled or given the face of a bat or frog instead of
simply being broken on the rack or blinded in the traditional manner he could not understand. Was it not
better to have the teeth of a rat than none at all? Sometimes he felt he would never understand the
reasoning of the common man.

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 A Triumph of Souls: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 3



Of the gustatory delights that burdened the dining table he normally would consume only a small
amount. The remainder of the pancakes, eggs, meats, breads, jams, butters, fruits, cereals, juices, and