"David Gemmell - Morningstar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

always happens. Her love turned to anger and she told her husband about me. It is partly
my fault -I should not have taken all her jewellery. But I had gambling debts and,
anyway, I think I earned some reward for the pleasure I gave her.’You stole her jewels?
What kind of a man are you?’I thought we had decided that question. I am a thief.’It
sounds to me as if you broke her heart.’I never touched her heart,' he said, with a
chuckle. He stood and walked to the window, gazing out over the city. 'This will not last
long,' he whispered, his voice losing its lightness of tone.

'What do you mean?’Ziraccu is finished. The war will come here. Siege-engines will
sunder the walls, armed troops will rampage through the streets.’But this is not a
battlefield,' I said.
 'The Ikenas have a new King. Edmund, the Hammer of the Highlands he calls himself.
He says he will not rest until the northern kingdom is overcome. I believe he means it.
And that will mean new rules of engagement.’How so?’A lot more death, bard,' he said
cheerfully. 'You can forget about set battles and ransomed knights. This Edmund believes
in victory and he'll not stop until all his enemies are wormfood. Mark my words. He'll
attack the cities and raze them. He'll end the Angostin Wars once and for all. But I'll
not stay to see it. I have no wish to be trapped here like a rat in a pipe.’Where will
you go?’Somewhere where the women are warm and the gold is plentiful.’I wonder if there
is such a place,' I said, forcing a smile, 'But tell me, how did you know I received two
gold coins reward?’Bellin's wife whispered it to me just after . . . but you don't want
to hear about that.’His wife?’Yes. Nice woman. Very open. But I'd love to have her and
the daughter in the same bed. Now wouldn't that be a pretty sight?’No, it would not. And
you are a disgraceful man.’I try,' he said, laughing aloud.

Chapter Two

Jarek Mace received his reward from the innkeeper and, with a fine smile and a
wave, walked away from the tavern. I felt a sense of loss at the time, and could not
understand it. But life moved on. I stayed several days at the Six Owls, and even
entertained the regulars on my last night.

They were common men and women and I did not bore them with the Dragon's Egg, which
is for the cultured. I gave them what they required - the Dancing Virgin. It is a simple
piece of magick involving a silver tray which floats in the air while a girl, no taller
than a man's forearm, dances upon it, her body swathed in shimmering veils of silk.

It was not a great success, for there are many talented magickers who have debased
the piece, introducing male partners and allowing them to simulate copulation. I could,
of course, have duplicated such a scene - indeed, achieved a far more powerful display of
the erotic. But I had always felt it wrong to pander to the lust of the mob. There were
several coarse shouts during my performance which unsettled my concentration, but I
continued and finished the display with a burst of white fire, a glowing ball that
circled the room before exploding with a mighty bang.

Even after this the audience was apathetic in its applause, and I leapt from the
table and walked to the long bar feeling somewhat depressed.

Few understand the emotional strain of magicking, the sense of fatigue and
weariness of the soul that follows a performance. I drank heavily that night and it was