"Sean Russell - Moontide and Magic Rise 2 - Sea without Shore" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Sean)

And then he had been led to theLostCity , and the remains of a people who still performed arcane
rituals… But for what purpose?

To regain lost power.

This thought seemed to come from no knowledge that Tristam possessed—as though it were spoken
into his mind.

But what use had they made of him? That he did not know, nor did he want to. They had been after his
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blood, just as Trevelyan had warned; that much he knew, and that was enough.

He remembered the endless trek with the ghost boy, who was drawn to Tristam in the same way that
Tristam was being drawn along his own particular course. Thoughts of the boy pushed Tristam toward
the strange dream state that theregisphysic engendered.

He opened his eyes quickly, relieved to see the disk of light still searching his cabin. He felt suddenly that
he could trap it by opening a drawer in its path and then

pushing it quickly closed. Trap it as he had been caught, on this voyage he could not escape.

The effects of the physic were wearing off—not all of them and not all together—but there was a
noticeable change.

/may never be entirely free of it, Tristam thought,but I will be as free as I can. I will regain as much of
myself as is possible. I am Tristam. Tristam.

“He is recovering as I would expect, Your Grace. There is no reason for concern. The body cannot
make so much blood overnight. In a month he will begin to seem himself, and then another few weeks to
regain the strength he has lost. Tristam is young and hale. In two months there will be no signs that he was
ever ill.”

The duchess perched on the sill of the stern window looking at the doctor who sat, leaning on the table.
Llewellyn was lying to her—oh, not about Tristam’s medical condition; mat was no doubt true—but he
was lying about other things. It was a difficult situation.

“Tell me, Doctor, why do you think Tristam was treated in this way? You seemed quite certain that his
attackers had wanted his blood.”

Llewellyn worried the cuff of his shirt for a few seconds, then opened his mouth to speak, apparently
thought better of what he was about to say, and finally nodded his head to some inner decision. “I said
that only because it was clear from the nature of his injuries. The radial artery had been slit with surgical
precision. Whoever did that wanted to take as much blood as possible—or so I assumed. Why? You
know as much as I, Your Grace. Tristam…” he looked out the stern window, “is the focus for strange
occurrences. There is no denying it.”