"Brian Thomsen - The Nobles 04 - The Mage in the Iron Mask" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thomsen Brian M)

was accepted and put to work to earn his keep.
Originally the former Red Wizard had had illu-sions of safety in his anonymity, and dreamt
of se-creting a small fortune by which he could leave the Retreat and live out his days in a
secret location at a higher degree of comfort, but these hopes were soon dashed when
Nathor, a fellow conspirator from that ill-fated revolution had also turned up at the steps of
the Retreat.
Donal still remembered the Thayan refugee's rant to the elders trying to make them
understand his dire straits.
"Have you gazed upon the Runes of Chaos, beheld the thing which sits upon
Thakorsil's Seat, held the Death Moon Orb in your trembling hands, wielded Nyskar's
Nightblades, entered the Devouring Portal and walked the Paths of the Doomed, or sat at
the left hand of Szass Tam during the Ritual of Twin Burning?"
The others had felt pity toward him, and sug-gested that he be taken in until he could be
handed over to the authorities as a madman in need of incar-ceration. Donal knew
differently.
"I have done all these things," Nathor had con-fessed, "and each day I pray for
forgiveness, and each night at sunset I pray for deliverance from the evils that stalk me. I
pray, but I fear that no gods will lis-ten."
Donal still remembered the chill that went through him when their eyes met. From that
point on, the refugee remained silent, almost as if he had gone into a fear-induced catatonic
state.
The emissaries from the asylum were due to ar-rive in four days.
Nathor disappeared after three days, and was never heard from again.
Since that day, Donal had been perplexed. An optimistic individual with a touch of cruelty
might have chuckled over the situation. Perhaps Nathor had rec-ognized him and leaped to
the conclusion that he was a spy from Thay who had been sent after him. Little did the poor
fool realize that he too was a wizard in hiding with probably an even higher price on his
head.
Though Donal was cruel enough to laugh at the un-fortunate and mistaken Nathor (an
opportunity which the much-maligned and trod-upon self-proclaimed wart on the face of
Faerun would have been more than eager to seize upon), he was far from optimistic.
Donal was a realist and realized that his days of anonymity at the Retreat were
numbered, and he quickly seized upon an opportunity to remove the danger that he knew
would quickly be coming from the East, and perhaps make plans for a more com-fortable
future.
An opportunity soon presented itself when Donal had to take his turn as an elder of the
Retreat and make the half-day journey into Mulmaster to deliver the monthly tithe. (Only
elders were allowed to venture from the Retreat, as the more youthful interns were prone to
distractions that might persuade them to for-sake the life of scholarly pursuits, and at his
eighty-plus years, Donal more than qualified as an elder).
As per usual, Donal tried to make his journey as swift and as inconspicuous as possible.
His progress, however, was held up by one of the numerous connu-bial festivals that was
celebrated by the thrice-yearly reunion of the High Blade and his bride from the Far East,
and Donal's most direct path out of town was blocked by a parade in their honor.
Donal at the time did not expect to feel honored or blessed by actually seeing the city's
nobility, but rather just waited impatiently to resume his journey. A chance view of the High
Blade himself, however, quickly changed his mind, and from that point on de-vious wheels of
planning and deceitfulness began to turn with a plan that would grant him safety and
se-curity for the rest of his days.
*****