"The Crown and the Ring" (C) E.
Нестеренко________________________________ part two. "Staff of
Death" ... The old trail the entire zaroslatravoy, top down
suhievetvi trees, clinging to the ode-forward, trying to touch
his face. Glu-Khoi was hiding in woods gustyhobyatiyah milky
white tumana.Mutny lunar disc cold Vyg-lyadyval because of the
gloomy clouds. - Nochka not the best. Proklyatyytuman to the
bone probiraetpozhalovalsya CyClean, prikladyvayak mouth
bottle. - What have you got? - Stretched
Baron's hand.
- Tincture of belladonna. Note
it is potion, rather than infusion.
- I can feel the difference probulkalo
behind the governor. Far?
- I already feel a necropolis Loudborg growled. His horse
snorted nervously and slowed down. Magician went to a large
meadow and pulled the reins, waiting others. The first governor
emerged from the fog, then Baron a naked sword in his hand, and
finally, support - a dozen of the best warriors of the Royal
Guard. - Here it is - nodded in Loudborg
fog. They stopped at a large meadow in front of the darkening
the ruins of the necropolis. There are already
looms corpse stench. Necropolis, of course, was
long abandoned, but the local farmers ustroiliryadom cemetery
where the first werewolves, and
then the wolves tearing the graves,
feeding on carrion. Past and
now flashing in the bushes, zyrkaya
glowing eyes at the prick-eared horses, but not nearly
approached.
- Afraid! - Grinned Baron
looking at them.
- Can still light the torches? - Gently suggested CyClean.
Loudborg squinted at him glass eye.
- My friend, the wolves the most harmless creatures from those
that can be found in local forests, and
you, unfortunately, will now be
opportunity to verify this.
Baron chuckled.
- Can you wait for us here -
He suggested that he governor.
- Fear binds the soul of steel
hoop and destroys flesh, - has spoken
magician, looking to break free of the clouds the moon. - Baron
rights, is better for you posterech horses than slash with fear
its in the dark. In addition, if we do not, so you can at least
get back to the king. - But ...
- Now listen carefully, he interrupted and remember: you take
two of his warriors, horses stay and wait for us at this
place, not closer. Hear
bell? It is in the convent across the river call for evening
prayer - now nine o'clock. Next
once the bell will strike at midnight. You'll wait for us before
time. As soon as the sound
first strike the bell immediately,
hear soon! gallop with the soldiers in the castle. Do not try
to wait us further and even more to enter the necropolis. If
suddenly you meet you're one of us after midnight
even in the woods, though in a different place -
kill without hesitation or obezzhay tenth dear, if you want
preserve their own and others' souls. You
All right?
- Yes - a stifled muttered
youngest governor. - Good luck to you.
Baron has already lit the torches and distributed
of soldiers, and himself, swearing, pulling the string taut
crossbow. Loudborg threw one last look
on a cloudy moonlit drive down from
horse and hobbled to the ruins.
Eight soldiers and Baron followed him. A moment later, they
already descended on the Old stone steps deep into the
necropolis. Otbliki of thick smoke, smoky resin torches traced
to overgrown with moss, red walls intricate shadows. The air
becomes more moist and musty, irritating the lungs. Steps to an
end and rested on what was once a strong oak gates. Now of them
remained only rusted right through the iron hinges and a few
planks rot on the floor. The detachment had passed the arch and
turned into a spacious hall. - Grab the torches on the wall -
ordered the baron, looking round. While the soldiers was
attached to the torch stands, made in a clawed paw, a magician
lit candles of black wax and
arrange them on the floor in the form of an eight-point star.
When Hall shined brightly enough, he
straightened up and looked around. They were in the main royal
crypt. Here, in stone, steel
and even silver and gold
graves lie the remains of a great and not very much, royalty
and their families. Down here did not dare
no mortal fear of the terrible spells and no less terrible
monster is rumored to dwell in those dark dungeons. In the
crypt there were no more than a dozen coffins. All of them were
whimsically decorated with all sorts of crosses, monograms,
skulls and statues from the sitting on a horse brave warriors
in the crown to the winged demons. However, numerous legend
says that the main and most sarcophagus was safely hidden
from human eyes in secret
rooms, underground labyrinths.
Allegedly kept there for countless
treasures, mostly magic
amulets and weapons buried
great mages and warlocks.
To find a hiding place and was hoping
Loudborg. He said some
invocations, and waited, staring at the candles. Candles slowly
waning ... The old wizard started: the silence of stone crypt
pierced painfully familiar twang. He undoubtedly came from
outside, getting through thick darkness of the night deep into
the carotid emptiness. What is it, asked Baron
look. Loudborg suddenly understood and
smiled wearily.
- Authority.
- Which body?
- In an old monastery, which for
the river is a stone tower. Its walls were overgrown with
reindeer lichen, cracked from the sun heat and frost creaking
around winds grapes and fragrant
hops. Sometimes there comes a lone monk, and then freeze the
leaves on the tall poplars surrounding the garden - they listen
more body of the chapel, to the Resurrection
Toccata life of the great masters ...
- Maitre, there is something there -
muttered a warrior, interrupting the story.
He inspects the wall, helping himself with a torch. Feeling he
stone presses down on him. Part of the wall begins slowly, with
a disagreeable creaking move away, revealing the hidden course.
Gaze wary seekers appears little room. On the central wall
adjacent half-rotten wood coffin. He was bound in rusty chains
with bent sites links. The walls smeared with something dark,
lying on the floor of the darkened bones, some rags, broken
spear. - Take off the chain! - Frown
Mag. Baron picks his sword rags on the floor. Finally, the
coffin is closed. Inside lie the human remains. Clothes rotted
part, part gnawed by rats.
- Here it is, the staff of Death - whispers dry lips Loudborg.
He reaches out and pulls out
coffin long steel rod with
knob shaped like a skull.
The Baron looks around the quiet
squeak - a door starts
closed.
- Leave, quickly!
Magician throws a magical stars, but the black candles
suddenly flare up in the gusts of wind and damp. Baron
frantically trying to pull the torch from claws stand, but
suddenly be struck "paw" decompress
metal fingers and grabs
him over the edge of the cape. The dark
dungeon sweeps piercing shriek, followed by an eerie creaking
shifts the lids stone coffins. Slowly, though reluctantly,
rising out of them living dead, looking around the blind
look empty eye sockets extensive
hall.
- Get out of here! - Cries Loudborg, holding a staff baron.
- We will go together!
- Do what you say! Staff should go to the king at any cost. I
detain them for a while time.
Behind the wildly screaming soldier heard the whistle of
swords and the crunch of tearing flesh, the smoke from the
torches thickening, amplified the smell of tar. Inhuman
laughter is heard in the darkness, muffled echoes rolled along
the winding corridors of the necropolis. In the living has only
four: the old magician with the glowing amulet in his hand and
three warriors. One tall, all splattered with blood and saliva,
waving a huge battle ax, shouting curses. Second,
maintaining a scruffy bearded man with one hand, awkwardly nock
crossbow, angrily bares his teeth, looking at the upcoming dark
figures. Baron, stumbling, running down a long corridor.
The torch was extinguished, devil stick clings to the wall,
right hand zanemela, clutching a heavy sword, his heart beating
furiously round and round in chest. He swoops down on something
soft, frantically yelled, chop straight from the shoulder,
preparing to strike again and again. With a thud on the floor
fall invisible pieces of blade streaming something cold,
sticky, splash stench. Behind hear muffled cries, the crackling
magic lightning. In the hall abruptly comes the silence. Quiet
sipit magician. He was lying on the floor, twisted his fingers
squeeze the amulet Force, which slowly cools
darkens. That's it, man.
Crude stone pleasantly cools the cheek voraciously absorbs
human warmth. It is here, perhaps, for many, many years without
sunlight, with no warm wind and rain, the quiet brooding. He
does not hear the rustling grass, ringing wild birds chirp,
rolling thunder of spring thunder and the angry howl of winter
blizzard. How could she not hear and
you. Long. Always. Quietly.
Magician hears music. It is within
it has always been, only he does not
notice her. Did not notice how incoherent babble of a child,
whispering Falling autumn leaves and the sound of wind blew the
grass. Surprisingly wanted to go back and remember it. Life
flashed suddenly before bleary-eyed flash of lightning. He not
just thinking that it is not lived nothing that she was riddled
with deep meaning, sparkling full polygonal sides and bulk
events. Thought. Believed that carrying people to goodness and
happiness. Welcome ... Happiness is ... How strange hear these
words now, here. He remembered how, with the best magicians of
the country at the cost of superhuman effort opened the white
portal to get the Philosopher A stone from Lake Hope. How
smelled charred flesh Goreloye friend another purple fire mages
who wanted to get the stone for their goals ... He alone then
the survivors, having lost an eye and the skin of his left
hand. Stood silently looked at the closing portal,
never took the stone, leaving
him forever in the lake, only this time
Hope not, but the Void. Remembered
as a writhing black dragon, from
which he saved the Duke of Hel. And two days after
Duke of burned down the village
together with the people who could not
collect the amount, which the Duke
intended to reward a magician for your salvation ... Before
eyes flickered weird faces,
bloody mouth all possible
monsters, distorted mouths Black
magicians, torn spells
and steel. And incoherent babble
thanks for the help, and ringing
tightly packed with gold purse, and
envious whisper, and unintelligible curses behind his back ...
Music sounded louder, all the better. This is a large tower
body Loudborg thought. Maybe
string question? They cut the soul
bifurcates it. Somebody, bring me along! I like paper
and ink, as water and fire, earth and sky. As good and evil. AND
All my property is burdened by evil,
penetrated him like a pierced the clouds at night by moonlight.
Who given the right to judge, I hear a hoarse voice. He seemed
familiar to me. Fiery Question. Red veil veiled consciousness,
feelings and thought, slowly darkens, cooling down
forever ...
CyClean started. Pierced the night silence ringing toll.
Another. He jumped into the saddle, the last time looked at
ruins and ... I saw a human figure, which is reeling
approached. Zarqa stepped toward her with a torch in his hand
and a sword at the ready. Flickering light the fire pulled out
of the darkness a pale face, disheveled hair and a bloody neck.
Baron clutched at hand, long steel rod, the other arm hung limp
along torso. Madly staring eyes,
He handed the rod governor and grabbed the bridle anxious horse
heavily jumped into the saddle. The bell continued to beat.
CyClean nervously swallowing saliva, and took the rod and drove
the spurs into the horse's belly. Asked Baron about the rest of
it never ventured. His companions
Zarqa and Valh, soldiers from the Royal Guard, also remained
silent. They almost got out of the woods as cracked bushes, a
huge shadow passed by magistrates and knocked a horse baron
together with the rider. Rvanuvshee loud on the ears a noise
suddenly snapped and gave way to a terrible low wheezing
interspersed with growl. "Werewolf!" yelled
Valh. He has twice cleared the crossbow before a powerful blow
knocked him out of the saddle. He reached for the dagger and
the last sound sounded in his ears, was receding clatter of
hooves. Dagger He never had time to get ...
CyClean not see how they
crossed the river, rushed a little corn field and galloped to
the huge monastery gates. In his ears are still stood crunch
torn tendons and bones crack. He was shivering. During his
short life he first encountered the horror of death. It was
good to show off in front of nice decanters and a princess on
the jousting tournaments, prance front of the ranks in parades
and perforate arrows on the effigy ucheniyah.Zdes everything
was different. Here There was blood, were the corpses, death and
was terrible, rending his heart
fear for his own skin, makes her breaking into a cold
later. There was a feeling his own weakness and anger. Voivod
looked at Zarqa, he seemed
outwardly calm, although he was not
older than him. He banged the handle
Sword of the gate and at the same time looking around, holding
the bridle ride a horse to death. For gates finally heard
steps and a sleepy voice gently
asked who was there.
- Let go of strangers sleep in your holy place -
Zarka said, clearing his throat.
- In a later time worthless
hang around in these places - with displeasure the voice
replied. - That is why we ask the
you asylum.
- And who are you going?
CyClean angry.
- A well open, damn you
there pobral! - He shouted. I am a royal governor, and the name
of King I order you to open the gate!
- Well, just do not cry.
Rang shifts the bars, the gate creaked and opened halfway,
let "Strangers" and quickly shut. Full bald monk looked at
Zarqa, then for governor, posvechivaya dull lamps.
- I do not want to sound cocky,
but I ask you to create cross
sign - he grunted.
Zarqa readily crossed and frowning slightly CyClean
slightly delayed. He was not
baptized in the church and faith generally recognized
eight-pointed star. The fat man shook his head and made
to follow him. They crossed the courtyard and entered a small
cell. The low ceiling was covered
blackened, near the small window stood a heavy wooden table
of rough boards put together. For
table, hunched over the book,
sat humpbacked old man. A pair of the dying candle lit table and
part of the wall. Monk shyly coughed. Hunchback tore the head
from books for guests to leisurely spent a sharp eye, delayed
him on his staff in his hand Death
magistrates wrinkled gray eyebrows.
- Who are you?
CyClean held the hand of Zarqa, stepped forward.
- I CyClean Tvul, Governor King Ventslava, but it - he nodded
in Zarqa - my squire. We
returned to the royal castle
of my estate, but on the road
We caught the night. And because
troubled places here, please
if you wanted to spend the night.
The fat monk, as it seemed
CyClean and sighed. Hunchback rose heavily and hostility hissed
raspy voice: - Well, we, of course, as good servants of God
not refuse to help those who suffer. True, the lodging and
dinner, which you can found in our monastery, a very
modest, but we are quite
ascetic lifestyle. Brother
Pirkei holds you, that's just ...
- Yes?
- I would ask, where did
thee, my son, this staff? -
He jabbed his crooked finger in
Staff of Death. CyClean hesitated.
- It's a magical amulet that Loudborg, the magician of King
asked me to bring to it.
The old man paused, then dull
said:
- It's your business, but I still
I want to warn you. You listen to the old abbot, or
No, you decide. I advise to get rid of this walking stick as
much as possible possible. Here is visible hand Demon.
Once upon a time in our world was
only one faith - the Church of the Lord. But with the first
arrival of the Demon on the ground, everything changed: there
are those who renounced God and began to serve as a kind of
enemy human. They were called black magicians. But there are
those who allegedly stayed true to Creator, they began to fight
Evil and do good, using
Dark Forces. One of them was
Loudborg. He needed to live life to understand what is
The good he did, laden with evil, and you perhaps will never
know. Remember only what is good to build
not only with pure thoughts,
and clean hands.
END OF THE SECOND PART
. . .
A small clarification.
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Firstly, this literary work is not narrative, and narrative.
Second, published in the journal "ZX POWER" excerpts are
no more than rough drafts of 1996 and to date they have
undergone significant changes.
Thirdly, this last part of the story, her drafts
end.
Therefore, the fate of the story in the magazine can
as follows:
1. Termination of publications.
2. Publish first, but now
the final version.
3. The publication of the continuation, but
continuation also completed.
4. Has not yet been invented.
If suddenly you readers have any suggestions for
about this, (which I strongly
doubt), they may submit
them in a journal or tell me
personally.
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