"Christopher Stasheff - Warlock 13 - Warlock's Last Ride" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

Magnus looked surprized, barely started to mutter a denial before the outer door opened and the
ramp stretched down before them, a silver gleam in the moonlight that showed the cluster of people
moving up to its foot.

Magnus steeled himself, though she suspected only she would have noticed it, then seemed to relax
completely and stepped out onto the bridge to his home—stepped faster and faster, until with a grin and
cry of joy, he swept three of the people up in a bear hug.

Alea followed more slowly, giving him time, giving them time, hoping desperately that they would
take his seeming affection in the spirit in which it was offered.

As she stepped off the ramp, one of the figures let go her stranglehold on Magnus's neck and
managed to disentangle herself from his arm with a wide grin, staring up with shining eyes as she said,

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"Welcome home, brother."

She was petite, she was slender and shapely, she was beautiful, and Alea's heart sank. She's only his
sister, she thought wildly, only Cordelia, his sister. But now she knew the standard of beauty with which
Magnus had grown up, knew it was everything she was not, and her heart sickened.

Then the other two stepped back from their brother's hug with equally wide grins, showing
themselves to be two young men, one broad-shouldered and lean, the other slender and large-eyed but
with an aura of power.

Magnus turned to the slighter one in the long robe, and Alea could see him restrain the words that
came of themselves.

So did Gregory. He laughed. "Come, say it! 'How I have grown!'"

"I left you a stripling," Magnus said diplomatically, "and find you a man in full." He turned to the
more muscular young man in doublet and hose. "And there is also somewhat more of you than there was
when I left, Geoffrey."

"And of you." Geoffrey grinned up a foot at his older brother, his grin shading into a challenge.
"Have you gained skill in fighting to equal it?"

A shadow darkened Magnus's face. "Many fights, brother, too many—though I cannot claim skill
in their outcome."

Geoffrey stared in surprize, and there was a moment's awkward silence. Into it stepped a stocky
young man, taller than Geoffrey but far shorter than Magnus, clasping Magnus's free hand in both of his
own, saying, "Welcome indeed, brother-in-law."

But what was this? How could this great bulk of a man, this indomitable warrior, this Magnus,
HER Magnus, be bowing and saying, "My liege."

The blond's face twisted in pain. "Not your king yet, thank Heaven, Magnus. Come, rise and be my