The Demon King. Cinda Williams Chima

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СКАЧАТЬ was legendary. An armory, more like. No one ever knew what happened to it after the Breaking.” The purple vein over his right eye pulsed dangerously. “I’ll wager that snake Micah had no idea what he had.” He nodded once. “And now you have it.” Lucius extended the amulet toward Han. When Han hesitated, Lucius said impatiently, “Take it, boy. It won’t bite.”

      Han took it warily, weighing it in his palm. It felt pleasantly heavy and warm, vibrating with a power Han could feel in his breastbone and in the cuffs at his wrists.

      Warring emotions tracked across the old man’s face, finally fading to an expression of alarm. Once again he gripped Han’s arm, his long nails biting into Han’s flesh. “Does Bayar know who you are, boy? Does he know you have this?”

      Han shrugged uneasily. “I didn’t tell him my name, if that’s what you mean.” When Lucius didn’t look reassured, he added, “Look. I’ll give it back, if it’s that important. All right?”

      Lucius let go of his arm and drummed his fingers on his thighs, furiously thinking. “No,” he said finally. “Don’t give it back. It’s too late for that. Keep it hid. Keep it safe. Better Aerie House don’t have it.” He chuckled bitterly. “Stay out of their way, the Bayars.”

      Han had never seen a Bayar before now, and doubted he would again unless Micah returned to Hanalea. Hopefully he wouldn’t. “Fine,” he said, rewrapping the necklace and stowing it back in his bag. What good was asking questions if you didn’t understand a word of the answers? “You were saying? About the Waterlows?”

      “If you want to hear a story, don’t interrupt.” Lucius rubbed his bristled jaw and returned to his story voice. “The wizards came from the Northern Isles. They landed on the east coast and conquered the rest of the Seven Realms with their high magic. Clan magic couldn’t hold against it. It’s green magic, subtle stuff, not good in a fight. Strongest magic they is, but made for healing, not destroying. Clan has it because they in harmony with nature. The matriarchs and the amulet-makers, they’ve learned how to draw on it.

      “These wizards chose to live in the Vale. They married theirselfs to the blooded queens and reined as kings, but they wasn’t bound to the queens the way they are today. The succession still came through the true female line. The trouble started during the reign of Hanalea, the most beautiful woman who ever lived.”

      Han nodded. Lucius had finally strayed onto familiar ground.

      “Hanalea was handfasted to a wizard name of Kinley Bayar, of Aerie House, which was powerful then as now. Bayar was set to be king. But there was this young wizard, name of Alger, heir to Waterlow House. He fell hard for Hanalea—that wasn’t unusual. Only problem was, Alger was terrible powerful and used to getting what he wanted. He saw no reason why he shouldn’t have Hanalea all to hisself.

      “The council said no, and Aerie House especially said no. But Hanalea, she had a mind of her own. She disliked Bayar, who was an old man to her, cold and heartless as any snake. And she fancied young Alger, who was as handsome as she was beautiful. She run off with him, and they holed up in the Spirits with his allies—an army of wizards from Waterlow House and some of his friends—the best and brightest wizards of a generation.

      “Alger proclaimed himself king and married Hanalea. The council couldn’t put up with that, so the other wizard houses marched on Waterlow and laid siege to their hold. Anyone could see it was a lost cause, but not this boy. He was a longtime student of dark magic, and he thought he could conjure a spell that would end the siege and scare the council off.

      “Hanalea tried to talk him out of it. She wanted to give herself up to Aerie House, but he was headstrong and wouldn’t listen.” Lucius smiled sadly. “Boy was a fool for love. Too much power and too little knowledge. They was together only three months.”

      Han shifted impatiently. Stories about Hanalea and her many suitors were like lengths of old cloth, so worn down by the telling, you couldn’t tell one from another or even see the individual threads anymore.

      Lucius stared into space, his milky blue eyes like painted-over windows that hid what lay within. Han was good at reading people—he had to be—but he could never read Lucius.

      “So? What happened?” Han asked dutifully.

      Lucius flinched, as if he’d forgotten Han was there. “They killed him, a’course. After. They took him to Aerie House and tortured him for days and forced that young girl to listen to his screams. But it was too late. The damage was done.”

      Han blinked, caught by surprise. “What damage? What are you talking about?”

      Lucius raised bushy eyebrows. “The Breaking, a’course. You’ve heard of that?” he asked sarcastically.

      “I’ve heard of the Breaking,” Han said irritably. “What’s that got to…” His voice trailed off and he stared at Lucius, wondering if the old man had sipped a little too much product. “Hold on. You’re talking about the Demon King?” He whispered the last two words, which people tended to do, and resisted the urge to make a sign against evil.

      “His name was Alger,” Lucius said softly, his whole body slumping into a puddle of wrinkled skin and drab cloth.

      The sun went behind a cloud, and it was suddenly cold on the creek bank. Han shivered and drew his jacket closer around him.

      Lucius’s unfortunate Alger Waterlow was the Demon King? Not possible.

      The Demon King was the monster in every scary story. The devil you wouldn’t name for fear of calling him to you. The one that waited in the dark down a crooked street for bad children to come his way.

      “That’s not true!” Han burst out, fueled by righteous indignation and a lifetime of stories. “The Demon King stole Hanalea away on her wedding night. He chained her in his dungeon when she refused him. He tortured her with dark sorcery, trying to win her heart. When she resisted, he broke the world.”

      “He was a boy,” Lucius muttered, fumbling for his flask. “They were in love.”

      “He was a monster,” Han countered, shying a rock into the creek. “She destroyed him.” He’d seen the frieze in the temple at Fellsmarch. It was called The Triumph of Hanalea and consisted of a series of scenes: Hanalea in chains, defying the Demon King. Hanalea, beautiful and terrible, holding the world together with green magic as the Demon King tried to shatter it. Hanalea standing over the Demon King’s lifeless body, a sword in her hand.

      If it’s carved in stone, it has to be true, Han thought.

      “They killed him,” Lucius said. “And that released a destructive power like the world has never known, before or since.” He sighed, shaking his head, as if it hadn’t been the Demon King’s fault at all.

      “Afterward, the wizards meant to marry Hanalea off to Kinley Bayar.” The old man sat up straighter, his eyes oddly clear and focused. His usually quavery voice rang out like a temple orator’s, and his highland accent fell away. “But they had their hands full. The world was breaking, crumbling into chaos. Earthquakes shook their castles down. Flames erupted from the ground. The oceans boiled away and forests turned to ash. Night fell and stayed for months, lit only by the fires that burned day and night. The air was too thick to breathe. Nothing they conjured would stop it. Finally they had to turn to the clans for help.”

      Disappointment flamed within Han. How had they strayed so far afield from his original question СКАЧАТЬ