"Bradley,.Marion.Zimmer.-.Darkover.-.Clingfire.1.-.Fall.Of.Neskaya.(.With.Deborah.J.Ross)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

Rumail had often wished this were possible, but other than his immediate family-Damian and now his son-the only one he'd come across who possessed the necessary susceptibility was the Leynier boy.
When Belisar looked puzzled, Rumail said, "Think of it as a window to this Leynier boy's mind, to the very core of his laran. He will take training in a Tower, as he should. I have seen to that. With his talent, he should go far, perhaps even become a Keeper."
Rumail could not keep a trace of bitterness from his voice, for that had been his own aspiration, had those fools at Neskaya been able to see his worth. But there was no profit in pursuing such thoughts. One of the unspoken purposes of this journey was to let the last fracas die down, some silliness about him having "unduly influenced" a

young student. It was all ridiculous. No one argued he had done anything except for the boy's benefit, yet he'd been censured for his methods, simple and direct though they were. If a Keeper had done the same thing, his actions would have been praised. In a few months, they would realize how badly they needed him in the higher-level matrix circles and would welcome him back. Next time, he'd be more discreet.
He guided his thoughts back to the present and went on, "When the time is right, when we most need such an ally, I have but to open the window in young Leynier's mind and speak our truth. He must listen."
"Must?" Belisar raised one eyebrow.
"Must. As to the voice of his own conscience or the whispers of his beloved. He will listen and he will obey because he will believe with all his heart and might. We will have a Keeper, perhaps the most powerful on Darkover, as our most loyal ally." He paused, letting the words sink in. "No matter which Tower he serves in, no matter what the allegiance there."
Damian closed his eyes, as if deeply considering. A smile spread slowly across his face. "Brother, you are right! You have brought us a far greater treasure than a single petty kingdom! Belisar, what do you think of your uncle's genius?"
Belisar grinned. "I think it would be jolly fun to have a pet Keeper to do our bidding!"
"Never say that!" Rumail stormed. "Never even think it! A Keeper can channel unimaginably powerful forces and direct them at his will. Do you think clingfire raining from the skies or rootblight withering a forest are the worst horrors of war? Why do you think the Aldarans are so feared, up there on their mountain?"
"Be at ease," Damian cut in. "This is no child's toy or dalliance, but neither is the vision of a future we are all

sworn to. We must have the power to bring our dreams into reality for the welfare of all peoples. Rest assured, we will use it wisely.
"Come," Damian said, rising, "let us hear some music to soothe away the night. Tomorrow will be a new day, one we face armed better than ever, thanks to your fine work."

7
Coryn awoke from dreams of swaying, jolting, rocking, and more jolting. Alertness came slowly as he drifted in and out of uneasy sleep. Finally, insistent pangs from stomach and bladder forced him toward consciousness.
He lay in a bed, not his bed, not his room, with no idea of where he was or how he had gotten here. The weakness in his body when he tried to sit up reminded him unpleasantly of that morning after Dom Rumail had examined him for laran. This room was unfamiliar, far smaller than his own and curtained by panels of open-weave white linex.
The other furnishings included a backless stool, a small chest at the foot of the bed, an empty bookcase in the headboard ... and a chamber pot in the far corner. He staggered toward it on unsteady legs. A few minutes later, he made it back to bed, where he lay, breathing hard and sweating.
A gentle tap sounded from beyond the white curtain. He lay still, covers pulled up to his chin, waiting for his heart to stop hammering. He didn't have the strength to get back to

his feet and the last thing he wanted was to be lying here helplessly while some stranger approached his bed. Perhaps whoever it was had made a mistake and would go away. The tap came again.
After a long moment he heard-no, he sensed footsteps, quick and light, receding down the corridor outside. Coryn drifted back to sleep.
And sprang awake as a door swung open. The curtain was pulled aside to reveal an older man in a long, loosely belted white robe and a girl about his own age carrying a tray of covered dishes.
"I'm Gareth, monitor of the Second Circle." The man sounded kindly enough, though he did not offer to shake hands. "And your serving-maid here is your fellow student, Liane. Now then, young Coryn. Are you hungry enough for breakfast?"
Coryn's stomach rumbled at the smell of the food-some kind of honeyed fruit, he thought, and fresh-baked bread touched with cardamom. He thought wryly that this scene was becoming all too familiar.
"No, please don't sit up. This will be brief." The man sat on the bed beside him, but did not touch him. Instead, he ran his hands over Coryn's body, following the contours but never touching. Above his closed eyes, lines of concentration furrowed his brow. His hair was clipped even with the back of his skull as no Comyn lord or warrior would wear it. He shook his head slightly.
"Eat now, as much as you can, and you can join the others later today or tomorrow." With those words, Gareth rose and departed, leaving the girl standing awkwardly, still holding the tray.
As she looked around for a place to set it down, Coryn, propping himself up on one elbow, got a good look at her. Straw-pale hair tinged with red hung in neat braids to her

waist. Thick, colorless eyelashes fringed eyes of startling green. Freckles dusted her cheeks. She wore a simple robe of spring-green wool, belted with a sash of the same fabric around her slender waist. When she smiled, her eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Here," Coryn said, moving to make room on the bed. She set the tray down and sat behind it, tucking her legs under her. He lifted the domed covers to discover a small feast-honey-stewed fruit, as he had suspected, sliced bread, white and yellow cheeses, turnovers with some kind of spiced meat filling, a flagon of water and one of apple cider.
"I can't eat all this!" He made a face. "Do you want some?"
"I'm always hungry. Auster-he's one of my teachers- says it's because I'm growing so fast. The food here is really good. Lots of meat pastries and no bean porridge for breakfast!" Her chatter reminded him of Kristlin.
Coryn spread a thick slice of nutbread with soft yellow cheese and ate it with a mug of the cider. At his urging, the girl took one of the turnovers. She ate quickly and neatly, leaving no crumbs.
"You're being awfully nice to me," she said, "considering how mean I was to you."
Coryn swallowed a mouthful of the honeyed fruit and blinked at her. "I'm sorry, I don't remember having met you before. I've been-ill, I guess."
"I'll say you've been sick. Threshold sick. Auster says he's never seen such a bad case, not in anyone who lived. Oh!" One hand flew to her mouth. "That wasn't very nice to say, was it? I'm always saying whatever pops into my mind, whether I mean it or not. I mean, you really were very sick, you had convulsions and everything. You nearly scared the wits out of me. I'm glad you're not going to die, 'cause then

I'd feel awful. Marisela-she's the housemistress-says I must learn tact and something else, I'm not sure what."
Now the girl sounded so exactly like Kristlin that Coryn burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, too," he managed to say. "But I truly don't remember who you are. Should I?"
Bright color shot across the girl's cheeks. She looked down at her hands, fingers laced together. "Yes, the night you-we-Lady Bronwyn was escorting me here, and our guards found your camp." She met his gaze, her green eyes somber. "You were sick, and you wouldn't hold still when Lady Bronwyn tried to help you. I'm afraid I behaved very badly."
The voice, the petulant child's voice in the darkness. "Oh. I didn't exactly-I mean, I had other things on my mind."
A smile flashed across her face, quickly disappearing. "You're nice, do you know that? But I had no right to be so rude just because you're a Leynier and were on our lands. Alain-the guards captain-thought you and your man were spies. You can never tell with Verdanta folk."
"Liane-Liane Storn?"
"Yes, but we're not supposed to use our family names here. Every day since we arrived, I've been given a lecture on how none of that matters, only ourselves-'our laran, our character, our discipline, our work'. On and on like that." She wrinkled her nose so that the freckles stood out. "Doesn't sound like much fun, does it? But the lessons are interesting. You'll see when you can get up."
"Liane Storn?" he repeated, feeling muddle-headed. This girl was one of that pack of brigands who refused to help during the fire, not even to let Petro through to Tramontana! He thought of the days of desperate, bone-breaking labor, the choking smoke, the loss of so many nut trees, the hunger

in winters to come. How could they have just sat back and let the fire burn? What kind of monsters were they?