"Christopher Golden - Outcast 01 - The Un-Magician" - читать интересную книгу автора (Golden Christopher)

THE UN-MAGICIAN
Outcast Book 01


Christopher Golden &
Thomas Sniegoski
 CHAPTER ONE

The city of Arcanum was in mourning. Black bunting unfurled from open windows, and the flags of
every magical guild had been lowered to half-mast. The ghostfire that burned inside the city's spherical
street lanterns had been altered in hue; once golden, it was now scarlet, and would remain so for one full
week. Many shops and offices were closed, and thousands of the city's mages had turned out to observe
the funeral pyre that raged in the center of Temple Square—all to witness the ritual burning, all to mark
the passing of Argus Cade.

In that grieving city, very few others were out and about this night, and those who were gave no
notice to the ornate silver carriage that swept through the streets. It floated silently along, crimson lantern
light splashing upon its surface, taking the twists and turns of its route with a deftness that revealed the
skill of its driver. The silver vehicle whispered through the city several feet above the cobblestones. The
carriage doors were emblazoned with a lion about to pounce, the family crest of its occupant. At each of
the four corners of the carriage was an image of a silver dragon curled in a mysterious repose.

Perched upon the carriage's high seat was a man draped in deep blue robes, a heavy veil covering
his face. His hands were held out in front of him and from his fingertips tendrils of crackling cobalt energy
sparked toward the ground far below, fingers of cerulean fire investigating the road ahead of the carriage.
He was a navigation mage, just as his father had been, two generations spent perfecting the sorcery of
transportation. It was a worthy endeavor. Honest work for an honest man.

Inside the vehicle was Leander Maddox, the man whose family crest adorned its doors. The
carriage made the slightest of hums—generated by the navigator's magic—but it was little more than
white noise to him. Leander was lost in thought, adrift in the aching sadness left behind in the wake of the
death of his mentor and greatest friend. He forced himself to focus on the task that lay before him.

As Argus Cade's apprentice, it fell to him to close down the old sorcerer's residence and to collect
whatever papers or journals he might have left behind.

"Argus," Leander whispered to himself, raising a massive hand and covering his face with it. A sigh
escaped him and he shuddered, settling more deeply into the velvet seat within the carriage.

The loss pained him deeply. Argus Cade had been the greatest sorcerer of his generation, a master
of the magical sciences, an adviser to kings and prime ministers, but to Leander all of those things paled
beside the man's kindness and courage. He had been more than a mentor. He had been an example.

Leander had lost his own father as a boy, and Argus had always given him the guidance he would
have wished for from a father. And in the midst of the political games and power struggles of the
Parliament of Mages, Argus had never compromised his beliefs, never allied himself with anyone who did
not share them, and never kept silent to avoid controversy. He was his own man, and had earned great
respect for that position.

Leander glanced out the window at the street lanterns, scarlet ghostlights throwing red shadows on