"David Zindell - Ea Cycle 04 - The Diamond Warriors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zindell David)

From a thousand miles and years away, I heard myself cry out this name as I readied
myself to slay this beast yet again. But dragons cannot be harmed by such fire; only
the fulgor of the red gelstei or the stars can pierce through their iron-like scales to a
dragon's heart. And so I drew in a deep breath and willed the fire within me to blaze
hotter, purer and brighter until I could not hold it anymore, and it poured out into my
sword. For one perfect moment, Alkaladur flared with all the brilliance of a star.
Maram and Master Juwain cried out in pain at this fierce light. And so did the
dragon. Then her jaws closed, and so did her great, golden eyes, and for a moment
thought that I had slain her. But the Ahrim, I sensed, might be unkillable. All at once
the dragon's immensity dissolved again into a blackness that sifted down through the
air like soot. And as it fell to earth, the powdery-like particles of its essence
reassembled themselves into the form of yet another man - or rather, a once-bright
being who was something more than a man.
'Elahad,' he called out to me in a strong, beautiful voice that carried all the command
of death. 'The common murderer who would be king.'
Morjin, for such the Ahrim had now become, stood before me and bowed his
gold-haired head to me. His golden eyes twisted screws of hate into my eyes, and I
could not look away from him, nor could I lift my sword to block his fearful gaze.
From some-where off in the trees, Daj shouted out in detestation and dread of his
old master. Atara, to my right, fitted an arrow to her bowstring and loosed it at him.
But the arrow sailed right through his shad-owed substance as if it were a cloud.
He paid her no attention, but only continued to stare at me. He appeared as he had
been in his youth before his fall: fine of feature, golden-skinned and graceful in his
bearing. The compassion in his eyes gleamed almost like gold.
'Morjin!' I shouted out. At last, I managed to raise up my sword. His smile chilled
me. Then he opened his mouth and breathed at me, almost as if he were blowing a
kiss. No fire shot forth to scorch me, but only a bit of blackness from which he was
made. I lifted my sword still higher, but I moved in vain, for it flowed around my
bright blade as oil would a stick. And then his breath fell upon my head and arms,
smothering me, blinding me. An unbearable cold burned through my skin deep into
my bones. I stood as for an hour inside a lightless and airless cavern, gasping and
coughing for breath.
'Valashu Elahad, look at me!' his hateful voice commanded. All at once, the black
fog cleared from around my head, and I could not keep myself from staring at him.
'You cannot defeat me.'
My fingers seemed frozen around the hilt of my sword, with all my joints locked and
shrieking in pain. I could not even blink my eyes. My heart, though, still beat within
me, quick and hard and hurtful, almost as with a will of its own. At last I found my
will, and I raised back my sword.
'Val, do not!' Atara called out from somewhere near me. 'Do not!'
I could not listen to her. I looked on in loathing as Morjin smiled at me and his
features took on their true cast to reveal the hideous man that he had become:
sagging flesh all pale with rot, stringy white hair and bloodshot eyes raging with hate.
I struck out with my sword then, driving the gleaming point straight into his face.
Nothing stopped this murderous thrust; it was as if I drove my sword through pure
black air. And yet I felt a resistance to my sword's silustria and its cutting edges, not
of flesh and bone, but of spite and pain and cold. I fought this piercing numbness,
and pulled back my sword. I stared at it in fury, for somehow the Ahrim's substance
had turned it black, like frozen iron. Then I stared at Morjin in horror, for even as I
watched, his face became as my own, only blackened and twisted with hate. 'You