"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 1 - Lure Of The Basilisk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

an agnostic, refusing to listen to the babble of competing priesthoods without
tangible evidence of the existence of the countless gods and goddesses they
espoused. As a result of this widespread attitude, there were no priests of
any description to be found in the Northern Waste.
He carefully stamped out the invisible flame with his invisible boot,
and caught the odor of invisible smoke. He wondered if Shang would be able to
smell his presence. He had no idea how well humans could smell; it would seem
that such prominent noses should be fairly sensitive but, recalling the
foulness of Skelleth, he decided that the appearance must be deceiving.
It seemed that the only thing to do was to search the walls as best he
could in the dim light, working mostly by touch despite his inability to lift
so much as a fallen leaf. He could still sense textures, though a silk drapery
would give no more than a stone wall under his intangible fingers.
To his surprise, he found that in a way the darkness was comforting; he
didn't expect to see his hands or feet in the dark, so their absence was much
less distracting than in the light. He found his way without difficulty to the
slightly damp and noticeably cool stone wall, and began cautiously feeling his
way along, dodging around wine-racks when necessary, and likewise around
cobwebs, which were as unbreakable as steel mesh to him now. Enough light
trickled through the frames to keep him from actually colliding with anything.
The miscellaneous projections he encountered were visible as patches of more
complete darkness. No sort of detail could be made out, however; his
explorations were of necessity tactile rather than visual.
He gradually became absorbed in his task, noticing and mentally
cataloging an intriguing variety of textures in the stone and losing all sense
of time. It was only when he reached a corner and decided to take a brief rest
that he noticed he was now in complete darkness, even the glow of the torch
lost amid the intervening wine-racks. He had systematically explored-at least
a hundred feet of wall, inch by inch; it must have taken hours, he realized in
astonishment, yet Shang had not returned. He had no idea of the time, but
guessed that the sun must have risen.
He rose from his comfortable crouch and strode back toward the far end
of the cellar where the stairs were. As he did, he saw that the torchlight was
dimmer than before. Breaking into a trot, he arrived at the foot of the stairs
and saw that the torch had burnt down to a stub, too short to be held. In a
moment it would go out. Further, there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
He wondered whether some ill had befallen Shang, or whether he had merely
forgotten about fetching more wine. It made little difference. As Garth
watched, the flame flickered and died to a dull red glow that slowly faded.
A slight uneasiness touched him briefly, but he shook it off. If
something had happened to the wizard, he would have to break the invisibility
spell in order to leave the cellar: if he could not break the spell he would
be trapped indefinitely. Of course he would not die of thirst, but he thought
it doubtful that an overman could live for very long on nothing but wine. It
did not occur to him that he would be unable to get at the wine in his
intangible state. Also, his mount still waited for him in the city outside; it
would be hungry if no one fed it within the next day or so. Well, the warbeast
could take care of itself; he had his own worries. He turned his attention
back to the cellar walls.
It was a long time later when he finally came across what was