Мор - ученик смерти

           —theminstrelgallery.

           Mortsawthebowman,sawthebow,sawtheboltnowwingingthroughtheairatthespeedofasicksnail.Slowasitwas,hecouldn’toutrunit.Itseemedlikehoursbeforehecouldbringhisleadenlegsundercontrol,butfinallyhemanagedtogetbothfeettotouchtheflooratthesametimeandkickedawaywithalltheapparentaccelerationofcontinentaldrift.

           AshetwistedslowlythroughtheairDeathsaid,withoutrancour,ITWON’TWORK,YOUKNOW.IT’SONLYNATURALTHATYOUSHOULDWANTTOTRY,BUTITWON’TWORK.

           Dream-like,Mortdriftedthroughasilentworld....

           Theboltstruck.Deathbroughthisswordaroundinadouble-handedswingthatpassedgentlythroughtheking’sneckwithoutleavingamark.ToMort,spirallinggentlythroughthetwilightworld,itlookedasthoughaghostlyshapehaddroppedaway.

           Itcouldn’tbetheking,becausehewasmanifestlystillstandingthere,lookingdirectlyatDeathwithanexpressionofextremesurprise.Therewasashadowysomethingaroundhisfeet,andalongwayawaypeoplewerereactingwithshoutsandscreams.

           AGOODCLEANJOB,saidDeath.ROYALTYAREALWAYSAPROBLEM.THEYTENDTOWANTTOHANGON.YOURAVERAGEPEASANT,NOW,HECAN’TWAIT.

           ’Whothehellareyou?’saidtheking.’Whatareyoudoinghere?Eh?Guards!Ideman—’Theinsistentmessagefromhiseyesfinallybatteredthroughtohisbrain.