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

"We have arrested the fire along these lines," Padraic said, tracing them on the map. "But we cannot guard this entire front, even if we could get there in time. If we push on, if we try to save this part of the forest, then we risk losing even more in other places."
Tired men are careless, Coryn repeated to himself what his father had said so many times. And fire is unforgiving.
"If we permit the fire to burn itself out," his father said unhappily, "who knows how much more it may consume? There will be even greater hunger and cold in the winters to come."
Coryn felt a rush of pride for his father and how he cared for the lands and people under his stewardship.
"The Tower folk will arrive in time to save your forest," the stranger said.
"Father," Eddard broke in, frowning. "We received word that Petro could not get through to Tramontana. I understood that we could expect no help from that quarter, or from the six-fathered ombredin at High Kinnally."
"It is our good fortune that Dom Rumail arrived early,"

Leynier said with a deference that surprised Coryn. "And that he has the skill to contact the Tower through his star-stone."
"I could do no less." The stranger lifted the hood of his cloak back from his face, revealing a face so long and seamed, it might have been made from leather. Coryn thought him the homeliest man he had ever seen, yet the deeply shadowed gray eyes burned with an inner fire.
"It is in my brother's interest to protect the lands of his future daughter-in-law," Dom Rumail said.
Laranzu! Coryn caught the glitter of a starstone at the man's throat. He had never met a laran-gifted sorcerer before and now stared, entranced.
"Come on, young pup," Eddard threw one arm around Coryn's shoulders. "We'll starve, standing here. Let's eat!"
Coryn lowered himself to the folded blanket in between two sleeping men, his brother Petro and one of the stable hands, and accepted a cup of stew topped with dried fruit from Kristlin, who was still wearing those castoff boy's breeches.
With the first tentative bite, Coryn felt ravenously hungry. He wolfed down the whole portion. Someone else brought him another plate and also a tankard of watered ale. He dimly felt his head drop forward, someone take the dish and cup from his hands, and then he felt nothing at all.
Shouting woke him, and for a dizzying moment he wondered if the last three days had not been yet another dream. He struggled upright, blinking in the cloudless daybreak. Another man, not Petro, snored at his side, but the rest of the camp was already roused.

"They're here!" Margarida, Coryn's middle sister, raced through the camp, shouting. "Tramontana has come!"
Coryn threw his head back, searching where she pointed. Across the clear, empty sky, four-no, six-gliders moved swift and silent as hawks. Silhouetted against the eye-searing blue, the figures appeared swollen by the sacks of fire-fighting chemicals they carried.
In the camp, the gray-robed stranger stood apart from the others. Lips moved, although no sound came from his mouth. Something in his posture pulled at Coryn, drew him near. The man's hands cupped something which glowed faintly blue. He stared into it with an intensity that both fascinated and repelled the boy. Aloft, the group of fliers divided, some heading toward the two most desperately pressed firelines.
"It's all right, I don't eat children." Dom Rumail looked up. A fleeting smile lightened his features. He lifted the hand that held the starstone. "Nor will this harm you. It's not wizardry, you know."
"Y-yes, I know that," Coryn said, suddenly shy. "I have one, too. All of us except Kristlin, who is too young, were presented with starstones at the Midwinter Festival of our twelfth years."
"May I see it?"
Coryn couldn't think of a reason to refuse, but he slipped the starstone reluctantly from its silk pouch around his neck and held it out. To his relief, the laranzu made no attempt to touch it, but merely bent over the lightly flickering gem, studying it.
"Yes, you've keyed into it, albeit roughly. Who showed you how to do this?"
"N-nobody. Father's been too busy. And Eddard-"
"Eddard!" Dom Rumail snorted, as if it might as well

have been Coryn's horse. "And the wrapping-did you do that, too?"
Coryn blushed. His older brothers and sisters wore their starstones bare against the skin, when they wore them at all. Margarida, complaining that her stone gave her a rash, had wrapped it in a scrap of velvet from the late Lady Leynier's Midwinter gown. Coryn had gone to his sister for advice when, several weeks after his birthday, he'd awakened from nightmares. He dreamed that shadowy figures were impaling his chest on a sword of molten blue steel. When he tried the velvet, it made his nightmares worse. The circles under her eyes showed that it hadn't helped her either. It had been his idea to try silk, although Margarida had been the one to pilfer the scraps, cut from their grandmother's wedding gown and destined for a patchwork comforter.
"Your stitches betray you, boy," Dom Rumail said in a voice less gruff. "Put it away for now and don't let anyone touch it. From now on, only you or your Keeper may handle it safely. I must speak with your father."
Relieved, Coryn went back to his work. The gliders from Tramontana had dispersed, each to unload bags of fire-retardant chemicals in a different front line of the fire. Already, the smoke had changed in color. Coryn joined some of the other younger people, his brother Petro among them, up a little way on the hill above the camp. From here, he could see the billows of rust color streak the charcoal clouds.
There would still be more work to do, backbreaking and long, slow labor sifting through the ashes, making sure no live embers lingered to spring to life again. But the larger battle had been won.


When at last the ashes had been combed through and every lingering ember extinguished, when those who had labored so hard against the fire had time to rest and their burns and bruises were tended, Lord Beltran Leynier held a feast of celebration. He included not only his own household but every man and woman on the estate and every smallholder and his family, a gesture of unusual magnanimity.
That evening, the great hall of the castle glowed with candlelight. Tessa and Margarida had bedecked the hall with wreaths of late summer lilies and garlands of brown and blue, the Leynier colors. Padraic the coridom had arranged every serviceable table in the castle into a long-stemmed T, with Lord Leynier properly at its head and Rumail at his left hand, in the place of honor.
Coryn sat a few places away, sandwiched between Eddard and his young wife on one side and Margarida on the other. His mouth watered as one succulent dish after another was carried out, the slow-roasted bull calf, the barnfowl

stuffed with nuts and apples, the loaves of fresh-baked bread redolent with rosemary and garlic, the last of the winter gourds glazed with honey. He had no idea food could taste so good. In addition to the grueling physical work of the last week, the nausea had receded, leaving him ravenous.
After the platters of dinner meats had been removed and the honey cakes reduced to crumbs, Lord Leynier called for another round of wine for each guest, even the children. Rising to his feet in the expectant hush, he lifted his own goblet.
"At this time of thanksgiving, we offer our hospitality and our deepest thanks to our honored guest. Rumail of Neskaya, your presence here and your actions in fighting the worst fire of many years bring new meaning to the phrase, S'dia shaya. You lend us grace."
Rumail nodded and replied formally, "S'dei par servu. For myself, I am glad to have done what I could. My brother, Damian Deslucido, who wears the crowns of Ambervale and Linn, believes that with great power comes even greater responsibility. I could offer no less than my full assistance in such a time of need. Like my brother, I believe that the gift of laran confers an obligation of service. In fact, some say there will come a time when those in the Towers will dedicate their talents only to peace and never to war."
"War is terrible enough when fought with sword and arrow," Beltran Leynier said grimly. "But no man can stand against these devil-weapons unless he commands them himself."
Padraic had told Coryn the story of how his eldest brother, who would have been heir to Verdanta, had been killed in the last battle with the Storns of Callarma. His uncles, Beltran's two surviving brothers, had died in an ambush which had come under the guise of a truce negotiation. As certain as next winter's snows, his father was right.

Neither Callarma nor High Kinnally nor anyone else would dare to challenge Verdanta in the face of superior laran weapons.
After the faintest pause, Rumail continued, his voice shifting into formal, mellifluous cadences, "In the name of Damian Deslucido the Invincible, King of Ambervale and Linn, I convey to you warmest greetings and salutations. He sends these gifts as a token of his high regard."
Padraic, acting in his role of condom, handed Rumail a parcel the length of a man's forearm and half its height, wrapped in a cloth which was dyed deep blue and bore the sheen of costly spider silk. Rumail grasped the parcel so that the iridescent fabric fell away, revealing a casket of beaten copper. Murmurs rippled around the table at the sight of such riches, for copper was the most precious of all Darkover's rare metals.
With a single swift movement, Rumail tipped the casket open, releasing a cascade of spice packets, lengths of embroidery-covered lace from Dalereuth, strands of Temora pearls, and a magnificent piece of polished amber carved in the shape of a cloud leopard. Margarida, who loved beautiful things, clapped her hands in delight, as did Eddard's wife.