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

wheelhouse, to the recessed midship section. There were
people there, crew and passengers both, and they parted
like a magicked sea at his approach. Some gazed at him in
awe as he passed; others superstitiously averted their eyes,
as they might do for a passing demon. He ignored them all.
They had feared him once, as men will always fear the
demonic, and some had even muttered that the ship would
be better off if they exposed him to the sun and then
scattered his dust upon the waves. But his performance
during the storm had changed all that. Four dozen men and
women who might once have turned against the Hunter
now regarded him with a reverence just short of worship,
and any who found that mode distasteful had learned to
keep their silence.

If this were a pagan mob, they'd have turned him into a
god by now, Damien thought darkly. He wondered if the
Hunter's nature would allow him to accept that. Or did
enough of the Church's philosophy still cling to his soul
that even power, in such a form, would be abhorrent?
Thank God we'll never find out.

He looked at the Hunter's retreating form - at the
worshipful faces that surrounded him - and corrected
himself grimly.

Pray God we never have to.

Tarrant's cabin was belowdecks, in the dark and
crowded space normally allotted to cargo, livestock, and
machinery. It had been by his own preference. Damien had
originally provided him with a cabin alongside his own,
whose tiny windows had been carefully barricaded against
the sunlight . . . but Tarrant preferred a truly lightless
demesne, where no living man might put his life in
jeopardy by opening a single door. And Damien really
couldn't blame him. If anything, the incident drove home
just how vulnerable the Hunter was during the daylight
hours.

Now an alteroak door guarded the jury-rigged sanctuary,
reinforced with iron bands and - Damien had no doubt - as
much dark fae as the coarse wood could absorb. That
power would have been growing down here since the light
of the sun was first shut out, seeded by the darkness in
Tarrant's own soul. Not a pretty thought.

He was bracing himself to knock when the heavy door
swung open. The light of a single candle backlit the Hunter,
its corona like a halo about his light brown hair. For a