"Brackett, Leigh - Skaith 3 - Reavers Of Skaith (V1.1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brackett Leigh)

There was a silence in the roomЧthe silence of men digesting unlooked-for news, sucking the juices from it, tasting to see if it be truth.
The thirteenth Wandsman spoke in a strange dry voice. "Irnan, you said."
"Yes."
"The man Stark was at Irnan. What of him?"
"Tell them," said Ferdias. "They are much interested in the man Stark."
"Penkawr-Che demanded Stark as part of the ransom. He has knowledge of some treasure in the High North that Penkawr-Che wants. The Antarean also took back the flying thing that he had left with Stark."
The thirteenth Wandsman reached out and grasped Llandric's tunic at the throat. "Speak plainly," he said. "To demand is not necessarily to receive. What of the man Stark?"
"He is taken. He is Penkawr-Che's prisoner."
"Taken!"
The Lords Protector savored that word. Lord Gorrel repeated it several times, rolling it between his skeletal jaws.
"Taken," said the thirteenth Wandsman, "but not dead."
"The last talk I heard between the ships was last night. Iubar had paid Sanghalain's ransom; Pedrallon had been redeemed in Andapell. They spoke about the temples and other places they would loot. Penkawr-Che had landed at a place the other captains knew of, and would begin to plunder the tlun villages in the jungles between the uplands and the sea. He was questioning Stark, he said, and hoped for results soon. Then he said he would kill both the Earthmen, though there was small chance they could ever testify about what the star-captains had done."
Llandric shook his head angrily. "Stark is neither here nor there. These outlaw captains have come to rob and kill our people. That is why I made the decision to give myself up to you, so that you would know all this while there was yet time to stop them. And they must be stopped!"
His voice had risen until he was all but shouting.
"I know where some of them are," Llandric continued. "Where some of them intend to strike. They don't know that they were overheard. I didn't speak to them. It would have been useless, and I was afraid they might send one of the flying things to destroy the transceiver. But the ships are at rest now, while the flying things do the raiding, and if you move swiftly ..."
Ferdias said, "Enough, Llandric. My lords, you see how matters have turned out for us, how well Mother Skaith guards her own. The traitors have been made to pay for their folly. The man Stark is a prisoner and will die, along with Ashton. All the dangers that threatened us are swept away at a single stroke by one man's action. Shall we grudge that man his just reward?"
There was noise enough in the room then, voices raised all at cross purposes like the sharp waves in a riptide.
Llandric stared at Ferdias, not believing. "I thought perhaps Pedrallon was mistaken about you. I thought perhaps you honestly did not see where your policies were leading. But this is not a matter of opinion, this is fact. This is murder. And you speak of reward?"
"My young fool," said Ferdias, not unkindly, "your people brought this scourge about, not we. Do not expect us to relieve you of your guilt." He held up his hands. "Please, my lords! Let us be tranquil and apply our minds."
He moved back to the window, where he could see the flash of Old Sun's light on the golden domes and hear the chiming of the bells.
"Because of us, our world was able to survive the chaos of the Wandering and reshape itself into a new and stable order that has endured for centuries and that will continue to endure as long as we control the forces of disruption. With the passing of the opportunity to escape by starship, those forces would seem to be controlled, since the disaffected no longer have any hope of evading their responsibilities.
"But can we be sure that the threat will not come again? Other starships may seek us out as the earlier ones did. Other folk may be tempted as the people of Irnan were tempted."
He paused, and the others waited: his six white-robed colleagues; the Twelve in red, with their gold-tipped wands; the thirteenth Wandsman with the bitter face; Llandric between his guards.
Ferdias said, "I wish this lesson to be so well learned that it will never be forgotten. I wish the name of foreigner to be anathema. I wish the people of Skaith to learn, in pain and terror, to hate everything that may come to them from beyond the sky. I wish no one ever again to desire foreign rule."
He looked down upon the crowded streets of the Lower City. "A few innocents will suffer, and that is to be regretted. But it is for the good of all. My lords, are we in agreement that no steps shall be taken against these star-captains?"
Only Jal Bartha raised a question.
"The depredations may not be so harsh or so widespread as to cause such a feeling among the people."
"Great trees need only little seeds to spring from. We shall see to it that the news travels." Ferdias went and stood in front of Llandric. "Do you understand now?"
"I understand that I've offered up my life for nothing." Llandric's young face had taken on a totally unfamiliar sternness. It seemed to have aged ten years. "This is how you do good. You allow your childrenЧthe children you claim to love so dearlyЧto be slaughtered out-of-hand as a cold matter of policy."
"That is why you could never be a Lord Protector," said Ferdias. "You have not the long view." He shrugged. "Not many will be slaughtered, after all. And in any case, how could we hope to stand against the weapons of these foreigners?"
Llandric said cruelly, "You are an old man, Ferdias, and your long view is all of the past. When the starving hordes close in on you from north and south, and there is no escape for anyone, remember who it was that barred the roads of space."
The guards took him out.
Ferdias spoke to the thirteenth Wandsman.
"A day of triumph, Gelmar, after long adversity. I wished you to share it."
Gelmar, Chief Wandsman of Skeg, looked at him with a dark glitter in his eyes. "I am grateful, my lord. I shall make thank-offerings to all the gods that the man Stark is taken." He paused, and then added with savage anger, "It does not change the fact that it was my task to take him, and I failed."
"We all failed, Gelmar. Remember that it was by my order that Simon Ashton was made captive and brought to me at the Citadel. But for that, Stark would never have come to Skaith to find him; there would have been no prophecy of Irnan; there probably would have been no revolt; and the Citadel would not have been destroyed." Ferdias dropped a hand on Gelmar's arm. "It is over now. Even these last ships will soon be gone. Nothing has occurred that cannot be undone. We must begin to think now of rebuilding."
Gelmar nodded. "True, my lord. But I will not be satisfied until I know that Stark is dead."
3
N'Chaka was in a cage.
Cliffs rose up on either side of the narrow valley, stretching into black pinnacles that pierced the sky. The green place where the water bubbled was close by. His mouth was parched and his tongue a dry twig.
He could see the dark bodies on the green. The fresh red brightness of blood was turning black and ugly. Old One was dead, with all his tribe. The hammering echoes of killing still rang in N'Chaka's ears.
He howled and tore at the bars in rage and grief.
Someone spoke. "N'Chaka."
Man-Without-a-Tribe. His name. He had another one, he thought, but that was his true name.
"N'Chaka."
Father voice. Not Old One father. Simon father.
N'Chaka held the bars and remained still. His eyes were open, but darkness still poured across them, flickering with terrible pictures that were of a glaring brilliance. Heat and hairy corpses, the smell of blood on furnace air, snouted muzzles hideously smiling. He thought, But my people never smiled.
"Eric," said the father voice. "Eric John Stark. Look at me."
He tried. He could see nothing but the flickering of dark-bright images.
"Eric. N'Chaka. See."