"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 2 - When True Night Falls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

Wasn't it?

We need his power on our side, he told himself.
Otherwise an even greater evil will take control of us all.
Doesn't thai mandate some kind of alliance? But suddenly
he wasn't sure of that. Suddenly he wasn't sure of anything.
It was one thing to dismiss such a creature in mere words,
especially as it had been months since he had last seen
Gerald Tarrant. But the Patriarch's words, fae-reinforced,
awakened memories far more direct, more horrifying. The
Hunter's soul, caressing his own. The Hunter's vileness
invading the deepest recesses of his heart, his soul, his
faith. Leaving behind a channel that clung to him like a
parasite, a reminder of the power that linked them. What
would the Patriarch say if he knew about that? If he
understood that Damien had submitted to a bond with the
Hunter, which would endure for as long as they both lived?

"That was your real fear," the Patriarch accused "Wasn't
it? That I would recognize your lies for what they were-"

"There are no lies-"

"Half-truths, then! Evasions. Deceptions. It all amounts
to the same thing, Vryce!" He slammed his hand down on
the report. "You write that Senzei Reese died, but never
mention how! Never mention that in his last moments he
destroyed a holy relic I had entrusted to you. That this
treasure from our past was wasted. Wasted! And then there
is the matter of the Hunter-"

"I can explain-"

"What? That fate flung the two of you together? That for
the sake of your partnership he committed no sins while in
your presence?" The cold eyes burned with condemnation,
intense as the Hunter's coldfire. "You saved his life," the
Patriarch accused. "When the enemy had captured him, and
bound him, and sentenced him to destruction, you freed
him. You. Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he
demanded. "Is that why you sent me this . . . this . . ." He
struggled to find a suitable phrase, at last spat out, "This
travesty of a report? Hoping I would never learn the truth?"

He desperately tried to think of something to say - a
protest, a plea, anything - but how could he answer such a
charge? When he had written his report (agonizing over
each and every word, analyzing every turn of phrase a
thousand times over) he had never imagined that the