"Freer,.Dave.-.Heirs.Of.Alexandria.2.-.2003.-.Flint,.Eric.And.-.Lackey,.Mercedes.-.This.Rough.Magic.v2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Freer Dave)

The shaman averted his face, making a warning-sign. "Make it go, master!" he said urgently. "He will see us, too."

The vision disappeared. The shaman shook himself, like a dog ridding water. "Too skilled, master. Not so strong as the last two, but very skilled. And much haltija. Much strength to that soul! More than the skill or power."

Jagiellon nodded. "Then we will work through intermediaries. There are powers in the shadow-world that are mighty—at least within their geographical area. And we can misdirect. He must be watched. Watched from a distance."

"Yes, master." The shaman bowed. "I have two watchers at my call. Birds can see a great distance."

"They are not magical creatures?" asked Jagiellon. "He will be aware of magical watchers."

The shaman flicked his fingers against the drum, scowling and muttering. The skin began to knit itself. As soon as it was entire, he began to drum a steady, demanding beat. Count Mindaug could see his lips moving, but despite listening intently he could not make out the words.

Two birds battered at the window. Jagiellon motioned to the Count to open it. The Count pulled open the window and then had to duck as two enormous goshawks streaked past his head to land on the shaman's now outstretched arms. Beneath his reindeer-hide robe the shaman wore heavy leather vambraces of what could only be the thickest bullhide. And well he did so—those powerful talons would have pierced anything less right through.

Like most nobles, Mindaug had flown falcons. There was something wrong with these birds. Those eyes were red insanity. Goshawks were always a little mad, but these two . . .

It was said that a goshawk with a threatened nest would attack anything short of an elephant. Mindaug had the distinct impression that these two would not hesitate at the elephant, with or without a nest under threat. Most birds of prey killed only enough to feed on; goshawks and their kin sometimes went into killing frenzies if the opportunity presented itself. Mindaug sensed that this pair would create the opportunity if one didn't already exist.

"Feel them, master. Feel them with your power."

Jagiellon looked hard at the birds. "Hmm. It is there. But very, very light. Just a hold."

"Just their names, master. But I can see through their eyes."

Jagiellon turned to the count. "You served me well with this one, Mindaug. I am pleased."

The Count bowed, his fingernails digging into his palms. The shaman was a very valuable tool to give up to his master. But the Count had one thing that the Grand Duke did not have.

He had the shaman's own name of power.

Mindaug wasn't too sure how he'd use that, yet. But treachery was, after all, the core value of his world. His researches into magical creatures had stretched a wide net away from the Polish-Lithuanian power base that was his master's realm. He'd looked far, far back. What he'd found was this old one. The shaman was not entirely human any more himself.

But then, in the Ionian islands was something far, far older; quiescent, but far from dead. Jagiellon knew it had been a powerful place once, but actually he knew very little that was verifiable about the island once referred to as Nausicaa, an island which was settled before Etruscans came to the Venetian lagoon. Mindaug wondered if this was, at long last, the moment that the Grand Duke had overreached himself.

Chapter 4
It was bitterly cold down here in the water chapel below St. Raphaella. Marco felt it, even through the thick coat and fur collar. Brother Mascoli still wore his simple light-colored habit. The fringe of gray hair about his ears was, if anything, thinner than it had been when Marco first met him. Old people were usually touched more by the cold than the young, but the priest's faith seemed to keep him warm.

Warmer than Marco, anyway. He shivered.

"You are afraid, Marco," said the Hypatian Sibling gently. "Don't be. God's will is God's will."

"I know. But I still question the rightness of what I am doing. I do it for someone I love especially and dearly. This is not just a deed done out of love for my fellow man, or to serve a greater cause." Marco shook his head. "Kat and her grandfather must have been praying for the return of her father for years, and if it is God's will that he not return, so be it. All I want to do is find out where he is. If at least they knew what had happened to him, and where he is—or was—it might give them . . . not comfort, exactly, but . . ."

He groped after the concept that he wanted, but he might have known that a Sibling would know very well what he was getting at.

"I understand," Brother Mascoli said, soothingly. "Remember, Marco, there is nothing unChristian about asking creatures that are not human for their help, just as it is not unChristian to help them when they come to us for healing." He smiled. "Of course, no evil creature would ever approach us for help; their very natures would prevent them coming anywhere near here. And since you helped to heal one undine, all of the unhuman creatures are kindly inclined to you."

Mascoli put a hand on Marco's shoulder. "If a stranger had asked this of you, you would have tried?"

Marco nodded.