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The Wizardwar :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 95 из 208The wizard accepted things she handed up to him-a pair of rutabagas for tomorrow's stew, some dried herbs, a small bag ofcoin, and finally a book bound with black wyvern hide, long ago faded to a dull, papery gray.
He thanked the gnome and began to turn the ancient vellum pages-carefully, for they were fragile. By the look of them, they had probably been written by some of the first wizards from ancient Netheril. Basel struggled with the archaic language and the even more ancient spells.
Finally he found one that quickened his heart and chilled his blood.
A dark-elven spell opened a small gate to the Unseelie realm, allowing one mortal to be substituted for another. It was possible for both to return, but only if the would-be rescuer possessed rare clarity of character and a heart that offered no foothold to the dark fairies' magic. The rescuer- or the sacrifice, depending upon the outcome-must wear a talisman containing, among other things, a lock of hair from an ancestor, preferably a wizard of great prowess.
Basel grimaced. While this requirement would not be difficult for most Halruaans, it presented a real challenge for a kinless jordain. Yet Basel could think of no one but Matteo to whom he would entrust this task.
He copied the complex spell, working as quickly as he dared. He paid the gnome woman for her time and hurried to his tower, where a gate awaited that would take him to the floodgate's location-the place where Tzigone had disappeared and where Matteo was bound.
Chapter Ten
Four men rode northward through the rugged Nath, following the faint, twisting trail left by a dry streambed. Although all four were Halruaan and all were clad in the jordaini garb of white linen, it occurred to Matteo that he and his friends presented a strikingly diverse group.
Iago, the small, slight man who led the way, had seen well over thirty summers, at least ten more than the three men with him. Themo was the youngest, a bluff, cheery giant who was still in many ways more a youth than a man. Andris was taller than most Halruaans and wiry rather than muscular. His coloring was unusual: auburn hair, hazel eyes, and freckled skin that refused to burnish in the sun. Hints of these colors remained, despite Andris's mysterious transformation during the battle in Akhlaur's Swamp. Despite all, Matteo still considered Andris the best jordain he knew.
Yet nothing resembling brotherhood passed between Andris and the other two jordaini, who'd accepted the ghostly jordain's presence only after much argument and under protest. Even Themo, who had counted Andris a boyhood friend, had little to say to him.
He thanked the gnome and began to turn the ancient vellum pages-carefully, for they were fragile. By the look of them, they had probably been written by some of the first wizards from ancient Netheril. Basel struggled with the archaic language and the even more ancient spells.
Finally he found one that quickened his heart and chilled his blood.
A dark-elven spell opened a small gate to the Unseelie realm, allowing one mortal to be substituted for another. It was possible for both to return, but only if the would-be rescuer possessed rare clarity of character and a heart that offered no foothold to the dark fairies' magic. The rescuer- or the sacrifice, depending upon the outcome-must wear a talisman containing, among other things, a lock of hair from an ancestor, preferably a wizard of great prowess.
Basel grimaced. While this requirement would not be difficult for most Halruaans, it presented a real challenge for a kinless jordain. Yet Basel could think of no one but Matteo to whom he would entrust this task.
He copied the complex spell, working as quickly as he dared. He paid the gnome woman for her time and hurried to his tower, where a gate awaited that would take him to the floodgate's location-the place where Tzigone had disappeared and where Matteo was bound.
Chapter Ten
Four men rode northward through the rugged Nath, following the faint, twisting trail left by a dry streambed. Although all four were Halruaan and all were clad in the jordaini garb of white linen, it occurred to Matteo that he and his friends presented a strikingly diverse group.
Iago, the small, slight man who led the way, had seen well over thirty summers, at least ten more than the three men with him. Themo was the youngest, a bluff, cheery giant who was still in many ways more a youth than a man. Andris was taller than most Halruaans and wiry rather than muscular. His coloring was unusual: auburn hair, hazel eyes, and freckled skin that refused to burnish in the sun. Hints of these colors remained, despite Andris's mysterious transformation during the battle in Akhlaur's Swamp. Despite all, Matteo still considered Andris the best jordain he knew.
Yet nothing resembling brotherhood passed between Andris and the other two jordaini, who'd accepted the ghostly jordain's presence only after much argument and under protest. Even Themo, who had counted Andris a boyhood friend, had little to say to him.