"Bud Sparhawk - Magic's Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sparhawk Bud)

cistern as the clouds of an approaching storm gathered. Perhaps it was one of those storms the magician
had warned about, but more likely just another of the many winter usually brought.

All day he had been carrying snow to the cistern. It took the time for Jacob to carry the next load for the
previous load to melt. The cistern's ability to melt snow was part of the farm's residual magic that made
the townsfolk so suspicious. He didn't mind the repetitious work. He was thankful for anything that would
relieve the tense anticipation that would surely have kept him on edge all day long.

On one of his forays for fresh snow Jacob noticed activity at the base of the tower. It looked like two
people. He wandered over to see what was happening and saw that it was the two magicians.

Much of what they doing appeared incomprehensible. Arthur Thomas and Blade were struggling to open
a heavy panel at the side of the tower by using a pry bar they'd taken from the barn and their straining
muscles. Jacob loaned a hand even as he wondered why they weren't using a mystic spell instead of
brute force. As he was about to ask, the panel gave way with a screech of tearing metal.

The opened panel exposed a complex of pipes and cylinders, the purpose of which was beyond Jacob's
comprehension. Arthur Thomas said something in a strange tongue to Blade. The dark man responded in
the same tongue and stepped back. Arthur Thomas then tugged on a red handle that was nestled among
the confusion.

Nothing happened.

“Take this back to your father,” Blade barked abruptly as he handed the pry bar to Jacob. “We can
handle it from here, boy.” Jacob felt his temper flare, but held his tongue. He understood dismissal when
he heard it.

“Thank you very much for your help,” Arthur Thomas added as he glared at Blade. Jacob took the bar
and headed back to the barn.

He'd loaded another one hundred cubic meters of snow into the cistern when he heard a shout.

“Look!” His father yelled from the upper level of the barn as he pointed. “That old man's done
something! The snow's melting around that devil tower.”

Even at this distance Jacob could see exposed ground around the tower's base. This was certain proof
of the old magician's power. If he could make the snow melt then he could probably control the storms,
the weather, and even the sun and stars. He felt very humble. He would never be able to learn magic this
powerful.

“Nothing good will come of that,” his father shouted.

Jacob looked forward to his appointment with Arthur Thomas with fear in his heart. After discovering
their ability to melt cold snow in the depths of winter his dream of someday managing the inhabitants
within the machines seemed a pitiful, trivial goal; one hardly worth considering.

Arthur Thomas sat at the table with a cup of steaming milk before him. He was dressed in a simple
coverlet that left his arms bare. Jacob was fascinated by the designs he saw written on the old magician's
biceps. Some of the arcane patterns might be words, but they were in a script that he could not decipher.
There were images of magical creatures the like of which he'd never seen; sinuous creatures that coiled