"Zelazny, Roger - Amber Short Stories 02 - Salesman's Tale" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

dead, Werewindle was somehow alive. Though I could not
reach my father, might I somehow reach his blade, its
whereabouts, of last report, somewhere in the Courts
of Chaos? I focussed my attention upon it, calling it
with my mind. It seemed that I felt something, and when I
touched it the spot it occupied on the card seemed to
be growing cold. I reached. Farther. harder.

And then there was clarity and nearness and the
feeling of a cold, alien intelligence regarding me.

"Werewindle," I said softly.

If there can be the sound of an echo in the absence of
a prior sound this is what I heard.

"Son of Brand," came a reverberation.

"Call me Luke."

There was silence. Then, "Luke," came the vibration.

I reached forward, caught hold of it, and drew it
toward me. The scabbard came with it. I drew back.
I held it in my hands then and I drew it. It flowed
like molten gold around the design it wore. I raised
it, extended it, executed a cut. It felt right. It
felt perfect. It felt as if enormous power lay behind
its every movement.

"Thanks," I said, and the echo of laughter came and
went.

I raised my pad and opened it to the appropriate page,
hoping it was a good time to make the call. I regarded
the lady's delicate features, her unfocussed gaze that
somehow indicated the breadth and depth of her vision.
After a few moments, the page grew cold beneath my
fingertips, and my drawing took on a 3-dimensional
quality, seemed faintly to stir.

"Yes?" came her voice.

"Your Highness." I said. "However you may perceive
these things, I want you to know that I have
intentionally altered my appearance. I was hoping
that--"

"Luke," she said, "of course I recognize you--your own
Majesty now," her gaze still unfocussed. "You are