"Laurell K. Hamilton - Ravenloft - Death of a Darklord" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

“Why, he gets yours.”

“He would die, horribly.”
“As you are dying?” Harkon stood and paced back to the foot of the bed.

“Yes!”

“But, Calum, don’t you plan to give the boy back his body? As I plan to give Konrad back his?”

He stared into that handsome face. The dark eyes mocked him. He knew if he once tasted the freedom
of a new, healthy body, he could never return to this dying shell. He wanted to live. But at what cost?

“No one would agree to such a trade.”

“But I assure you, the young man will.”

“How could I come back to this pain once I was free?” Calum closed his eyes. “I would not be strong
enough to make such a choice.” “Then make another choice, Songmaster,” Harkon said.

Calum opened his eyes to find the tall man looming over him. “What do you mean?” Harkon smiled a
knowing smile. “Keep the body, be young and healthy. Escape this dying husk.”

“What of the young man?”

“He will die.”

“You would kill him?”

The smile deepened. “I would do anything to see you whole and well again, my friend.”

“You don’t plan to give Konrad back his body, do you?”

Harkon gave a soft, purring laugh. “Oh, Calum, do you really want to know?”

No, Calum decided, he didn’t, not really. What they were speaking of was evil. As evil as anything he
had ever fought against. He did not know why Harkon pursued this sorcery, but he, Calum Songmaster,
would not steal the youth, the life from another human being. It was monstrous. Harkon leaned close,
eyes drowning-deep, face solemn. “This might be our last visit together, Calum. Not that I wouldn’t want
to see you again, my friend, but you may simply not be here. If you die before our bargain can be struck
...” He leaned close, whispering against Calum’s skin. For a moment, he thought the man would kiss him
gently, as you would kiss a sick child. He was loathe for those lips to touch his skin. But only Harkon’s
words burned along his wrinkled cheek. “Once dead, I cannot help you.”

A wave of bone-grinding, stomach-churning pain burned upward from his rotting gut. When the pain
receded, he lay gasping, staring up into Harkon’s dark eyes. “What do you need me to do?” Harkon
smiled. “Very little, my friend, very little.” Calum waited for the words to fall from Harkon’s lips, waited
to hear how he would betray his friends, how he would destroy one of them utterly. They both knew
Konrad would not survive in Harkon’s body. He, too, would be killed. Calum knew that, and yet he
listened.