Аннотация
Douglas Niles
The Last Thane
Prologue
A melon swelled at the end of a twisted vine. The moist orb grew rapidly, as emerald darkened to shadowed purple. The sphere distended, bulging oblong, finally bursting into a soft pile of stinking viscera. The fetid stuff was momentarily black on the colorless soil, but the stain faded quickly.
The garden was in bloom, a checkerboard of colored swaths mounding the ghost-white terrain. But this was not the white of purity, of clean linen and bleached paper. Instead this terrain was like colorless death, maggots crawling in vile ordure or blind eyeballs milked by disease. It was a shade lacking in beauty, vibrancy, or any kind of vitality.
Even so, to the lone observer the garden was a place of sublime beauty and marvelous, chaotic perfection. Zarak Thuul's eyes were red, the hot crimson of deep-seated coals fanned by a breath of air, and they now flared brightly as the cycle of corrupt life was enacted again, as hid...
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