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

learned from them. Do you not recall what is said in the -"
She was interrupted by Astinus, snorting.
"I have been kept from my studies long enough." The histo-
rian crossed the marble floor to the door of the antechamber.
"Ring for Bertrem when you are ready to depart. Farewell,
Revered Daughter. Farewell... old friend."
Astinus opened the door. The peaceful silence of the library
flowed into the room, bathing Crysania in refreshing coolness.
She felt herself in control and she relaxed. Her hand let loose of
the medallion. Formally and gracefully, she bowed her farewell
to Astinus, as did Raistlin. And then the door shut behind the
historian. The two were alone.
For long moments, neither spoke. Then Crysania, feeling
Paladine's power flowing through her, turned to face Raistlin.
"I had forgotten that it was you and those with you who recov-
ered the sacred Disks. Of course, you would have read them. I
would like to discuss them with you further but, henceforth, in
any future dealings we might have, Raistlin Majere," she said in
her cool voice, "I will ask you to speak of Elistan more respect-
fully. He -"
She stopped amazed, watching in alarm as the mage's slender
body seemed to crumble before her eyes.
Wracked by spasms of coughing, clutching his chest, Raistlin
gasped for breath. He staggered. If it had not been for the staff
he leaned upon, he would have fallen to the floor. Forgetting
her aversion and her disgust, reacting instinctively, Crysania
reached out and, putting her hands upon his shoulders, mur-
mured a healing prayer. Beneath her hands, the black robes
were soft and warm. She could feel Raistlin's muscles twisting
in spasms, sense his pain and suffering. Pity filled her heart.
Raistlin jerked away from her touch, shoving her to one side.
His coughing gradually eased. Able to breathe freely once
more, he regarded her with scorn.
"Do not waste your prayers on me, Revered Daughter," he
said bitterly. Pulling a soft cloth from his robes, he dabbed his
lips and Crysania saw that it came away stained with blood.
"There is no cure for my malady. This is the sacrifice, the price I
paid for my magic."
"I don't understand," she murmured. Her hands twitched, as
she remembered vividly the velvety soft smoothness of the
black robes, and she unconsciously clasped her fingers behind
her back.
"Don't you'?" Raistlin asked, staring deep into her soul with
his strange, golden eyes. "What was the sacrifice you made for
your power?"
A faint flush, barely visible in the dying firelight, stained
Crysania cheeks with blood, much as the mage's lips were
stained. Alarmed at this invasion of her being, she averted her
face, her eyes looking once more out the window. Night had
fallen over Palanthas. The silver moon, Solinari, was a sliver