"J. F. Rivkin - The Silverglass Quartet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rivkin J F)

The Silverglass Quartet
Silverglass , Web of Wind, Witch of Rhostshyl, Mistress of Ambiguities
J.F. Rivkin




Silverglass
1986

ISBN: 0-441-76600-5

CHAMBER OF DEATH
The window was only a few feet to her left, and in a moment Corson had made up her mind and
clambered over the sill. If she was going to die anyway, maybe she could at least kill Lord Thierran first.
But Lady Nyctasia was alone. There was blood on her mouth, and her shirt was torn at the shoulder.
She gave no sign of seeing Corson, though her eyes were open and staring.
Corson hurried past her and flattened herself against the wall by the doorway. Lord Thierran was
coming up the corridor, still shouting orders to his retainers. “I want guards at every entrance! Search the
stables and the gatehouse!”
He strode across the room to the window and looked out anxiously over the grounds, watching for
any movement.
Corson kicked the door shut. At the sound, Lord Thierran wheeled around and stared at her in
disbelief. She was coming towards him, smiling, a dagger in her left hand.

“I didn’t plan to read Silverglass all in one night—I had to, because it’s such fun and so darned
good!”
—Andrew Offutt

“Filled with colorful characters, fast-paced excitement and plenty of bed-hopping. J.F. Rivkin is a
writer to watch!”
—Phyllis Ann Karr, Author of the Frostflower books



Acknowledgments
The author would like to extend thanks to the following persons for their very generous help and
encouragement: Piers Anthony, Phyllis Ann Karr, Fritz Leiber, Richard K. Lyon, Andrew Offutt, Jessica
Amanda Salmonson, and especially Susan Shwartz.


1
THOUGH CORSON BRENN Torisk had not often been to Rhostshyl, she remembered just where The
Lame Fox Tavern was. For some things she had an infallible memory. The Lame Fox was a disreputable
den shunned by the respectable people of the city. There was a place like it in every town on the coast,
and Corson was familiar with them all.
The crowded alehouse was all one room, filled with trestle-tables and benches. The only light came
from smoky torches and the great hearth where joints of meat roasted and charred. On every side men
and women were drinking and dicing, arguing loudly, cursing and bragging. A singer with a small lap-harp
was perched on a table, trying to make herself heard above the din.