"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 3 - Sword Of Bheleu" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

He would take the great sword he had brought from Dûsarra, hack the Baron into
pieces, and spill his blood across the dirt of his village...
"The ruby's glowing again," Frima said, interrupting his chain of
thought.
Garth looked down at the hilt of the immense two-handed broadsword that
was strapped along the warbeast's side. Sure enough, the large red jewel that
was set in its pommel sparkled with more light than the morning sun could
account for.
The thing had been at him again, he realized; it was the sword's
influence that had made him think of killing the Baron. He forced thoughts of
blood and destruction out of his mind, concentrating instead on his knowledge
that the sword he had taken from the burning altar of Bheleu, god of
destruction, was trying to warp his personality again. It had tried to do so
several times on the journey from Dûsarra to Skelleth, but so far he had been
successful in resisting its influence. He had avoided killing Frima several
times, and kept himself from killing three farmers, two innkeepers, a
drunkard, four travelers, and a blacksmith encountered along the way. The fact
that both Frima and Koros remained calm and sensible had helped, and the
glowing of the red stone served as a warning signal, allowing him to become
aware of the insidious effects before they became irresistible.
 He would be glad when he got rid of the thing. Along with the rest of
his loot, including Frima, it was to be turned over to the Forgotten King. He
would be reluctant to turn the sword over to anyone else; he knew how
dangerous it could be. The Forgotten King, however, was a feeble old man and a
wizard, presumably well able to resist such spells.
Of course, he was also the lost high priest of The God Whose Name Is Not
Spoken, the god of death, according to the caretaker of that god's temple in
Dûsarra. And it was a magnificent weapon, beautiful and deadly; it was a sword
a warrior could be proud of indeed! With a blade like that he could slaughter
any foe...
The red glow caught his eye, and he fought the bloodlust down again. He
would have to discuss various matters with the King before he turned over the
sword-or the other loot, for that matter; just because none of it had affected
him significantly didn't mean it didn't have magical power-but one way or
another he was going to have to get rid of the thing. He could not keep
fighting off its domination forever.
The warbeast growled faintly, a noise he couldn't interpret; it was not
the growl that meant danger ahead, nor was it a growl, of displeasure. He
looked away from the stone, but could tell nothing more from the back of the
great beast's head than from its growl.
"Are you all right?" Frima asked.
"I think so," he replied. "It hasn't gotten a good hold on me yet."
"That's good. I think there's someone on the road ahead."
Garth peered into the distance; the girl was right. That, then, must
have been what Koros was growling about. There was a mounted figure ahead in
the middle of the highway, perhaps a hundred yards from Skelleth's ruined
gate.
Had the Baron posted guards on this road, too? Previously only the North
Gate had been guarded. The figure was quite large for a human. Garth tried to
identify the mount; it did not appear to be an ox, a yacker, or even a horse.