"Michelle West - Echoes" - читать интересную книгу автора (West Michelle)

"Welcome," he said, his voice somehow deeper, "to the halls of the Kovaschaü. You will train here. But
only a handful of your number—three perhaps—will survive the training to become brothers and servants
of the Lady."

"What will happen to the rest?" someone asked, in the darkness.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," someone else said. It took a moment before Kallandras realized that it was his own voice.

"Why?"

"Because if we are to be brothers in all things, what we build here—at our beginning—will define us."
The old man bowed slightly. In the darkness, the subtle gesture was missed by several of the young men
who snorted or snickered in derision. He did not know their names, that night. Or ever.

"Sleep well," the old man said, and Kallandras realized that he was, in fact, lying on a hard, flat mat.

In the morning—if morning existed in a world that was not ruled, or witnessed, by sky—the old man
woke them. He carried a lamp and a torch, but both were unusual; neither flickered, and neither seemed
to give off heat. "Please, follow me."

They did. They were nervous, these newcomers; they knew, as Kallandras did, that they had fallen in
with the Dark Brothers who served the Lady's darkest face. To cross them was death. To serve them?
He had never desired the life of a killer. It galled him. To live in obedience was one thing; to live at the
expense of others, different again. But he was not afraid of either the killing or the dying; the shadows had
taken the fear from him. He was afraid of failure.

Of loss.

The old man led them into a vast cavern, whose heights and farthest walls were lost beyond lamp and
torch's reach. "You will not find this a comfortable room to begin with, but each time you return to it, you
will see more clearly. You are now at the heart of the labyrinth. Each step you take from this day forth
will bring you closer to freedom from its confines. You may misstep; you may take a wrong turn. These
are not fatal.

"But if you do not walk the path, you will never be allowed to leave. You know who we are. You were
not chosen because you were fools. Today, you will each be given the first of your many weapons; the
most obvious weapon we will give you."

Something touched Kallandras' shoulder. He turned. His gaze grazed a strange forehead, and fell until he
made eye contact with another boy.

"I'm Arkady," the boy said. His hair was as dark as Kallandras' was pale, and as straight as Kallandras'
was curly. But it caught torchlight and lamplight in a way that reminded Kallandras of fine silk.

"I'm—I'm Kallatin."

"You arrived last night?"