"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 2 - With a Single Spell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

from the surrounding shops; colored lights flickered eerily in one nearby
window, and a smell resembling fresh lye soap, but somehow not exactly right,
reached him.
Tanna the Great sounded slightly intimidating, so Tobas skipped by that
door and knocked at the next, beneath the board announcing Alderamon of
Tintallion. He hoped, also, that a fellow foreigner might not be upset by a
Freelander accent.
The door opened to reveal a large, middle-aged man wearing a black tunic,
brown suede breeches, and a carefully trimmed reddish beard. An odd, squarish
black cap adorned his head and, Tobas guessed from the visible expanse of
gleaming brow, hid a sizable bald spot.
"May I help you?" he asked.
"I hope so," Tobas replied. "I'm a wizard myself -- sort of -- and I'd
like to ask a favor." He looked hopefully up at the red-bearded wizard.
Alderamon stared at the stranger for a moment, seeing a ragged and
exhausted youth plainly on the brink of despair. He stood aside. "Come in," he
said, "and tell me about it."
The interior of the shop was draped in red velvet and gold brocade, and
furnished with three low black tables and six velvet-upholstered chairs. Tobas
noticed, even in his weary state, that the upholstery looked somewhat worn; he
could not decide if that was good, because it meant the man had a lot of
customers and was therefore presumably a success, or bad, because it meant
that he was too poor or too lazy to pay for new fabric.
It was clean, at any rate.
At Alderamon's invitation, he sank into one of the chairs, infinitely
relieved to be off his feet; the wizard sat across the table from him.
"A little wine?" he offered.
"Yes, please," Tobas agreed.
The wizard rose again and vanished through a draped doorway at the back
of the shop, to emerge again a moment later with a tray bearing a decanter,
two glasses, and a few small cakes.
"I'm afraid the cakes are a bit stale," he apologized.
Tobas saw no need for the apology as he wolfed down all but one of the
cakes and drained a glass of thin golden wine.
When he had recovered himself somewhat, he sat back, a little shamefaced
at his display of ill manners, and tried to think of the best way to begin.
"You said you're a wizard?" Alderamon prompted.
"In a way; I was apprentice to Roggit of Telven, but he... he died,
before the apprenticeship had gone very far."
"Oh? How far had it gone?"
Tobas was too tired and desperate to lie. "A single spell; he taught me
one spell."
"Which one?"
"Thrindle's Combustion."
"Hmmm." Alderamon stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, then asked,
"May I see your dagger, please?"
Puzzled, Tobas drew his athame and handed it to the wizard.
Alderamon drew his own knife and very carefully touched the two blades
together, point to point.
A sharp crack split the air; multicolored sparks showered the table, and