"Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman. Time of the Twins ("DragonLance Legends" #1) (angl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

ness paused there.
"Come in, old friend," Astinus said in his deep, passionless
voice.

The shadow was lit by a shimmer of warmth - the firelight
gleamed on velvety soft, black robes - and then by tiny spar-
kles, as the light glinted off silver threads, embroidered runes
around a velvet cowl. The shadow became a figure, black
robes completely draping the body. For a brief moment, the fig-
ure's only human appendage that could be seen was a thin,
almost skeletal hand clutching a wooden staff. The staff itself
was topped by a crystal ball, held fast in the grip of a carved
golden dragon's claw.
As the figure entered the room, Crysania felt the cold chill of
disappointment. She had asked Paladine for some difficult
task! What great evil was there to fight in this? Now that she
could see him clearly, she saw a frail, thin man, shoulders
slightly stooped, who leaned upon his staff as he walked, as if
too weak to move without its aid. She knew his age, he would
be about twenty-eight now. Yet he moved like a human of
ninety - his steps slow and deliberate, even faltering.
What test of my faith lies in conquering this wretched crea-
ture? Crysania demanded of Paladine bitterly. I have no need
to fight him. He is being devoured from within by his own evil!
Facing Astinus, keeping his back to Crysania, Raistlin folded
back his black hood.
"Greetings again, Deathless One," he said to Astinus in a soft
voice.
"Greetings, Raistlin Majere," Astinus said without rising. His
voice had a faint sardonic note, as if sharing some private joke
with the mage. Astinus gestured. "May I present Crysania of
the House of Tarinius."
Raistlin turned.
Crysania gasped, a terrible ache in her chest caused her
throat to close, and for a moment she could not draw a breath.
Sharp, tingling pins jabbed her fingertips, a chill convulsed her
body. Unconsciously, she shrank back in her chair, her hands
clenching, her nails digging into her numb flesh.
All she could see before her were two golden eyes shining
from the depths of darkness. The eyes were like a gilt mirror,
flat, reflective, revealing nothing of the soul within. The
pupils - Crysania stared at the dark pupils in rapt horror. The
pupils within the golden eyes were the shape of hourglasses!
And the face - Drawn with suffering, marked with the pain of

the tortured existence the young man had led for seven years,
ever since the cruel Tests in the Tower of High Sorcery left his
body shattered and his skin tinged gold, the mage's face was a
metallic mask, impenetrable, unfeeling as the golden dragon's
claw upon his staff.