"Briggs, Patricia - Sianim 2 - Steal the Dragon.text" - читать интересную книгу автора (Briggs Patricia)

Rialla shuddered heavily against the cold granite of the stable wall, ignoring the
tears that ran down her cheek. If she hoped to function as a Darranian slave, she
would have to cope with the past.

After all these years the slave trainer's face wasn't clear in her memoryЧa slave
didn't look at a person's face oftenЧbut his voice haunted her nightmares.

On the third day of her captivity, Rialla, huddled in the small group of women
and children that were the remnants of her clan, watched as a rider entered the camp.
He was greeted warmly by her captor. She couldn't understand the language they
spoke to each other, but the rider's name was familiar: Geoffrey ae'Magi, the
Arch-mage.

Rialla heard later that the Archmage was killed shortly after this visit; she had no
sorrow for his death.

One by one the children and women had been taken to the tent where the slave
trainer stayed; only Rialla and two others were spared. She didn't see what the
ae'Magi and the slaver did to the remaining captives, but she heard their screams and
felt their anguish in empathic detail. The horror of her knowledge ravaged her mind
until it closed down to protect itself, leaving her with only a shadow of her former
gift. What little empathic ability remained after the Archmage's visit was so erratic it
was all but useless.

For a slave, though, it was probably just as well.


For two years Rialla was trained as a dancer, and she was rewarded with the
tattoo at the end. Dancers were popular in Darran and she was good, very good.
She was treated well and allowed more freedom than most slaves, who were
intended for brothels or worse, but she was still a slave.

For five years she danced as her master bade. Finally, there came a day when the
opportunity to escape presented itself and she ran.

She killed a man when she escaped. Even the slight remnants of her empathy had
been enough to make her cry out with the pain of his death. Nevertheless, with
shaking hands she searched the dead man and took his knife and what little money
he had. She stole a horse from the stables and fled.

She escaped over the border to Reth, where she used the knife, heated in her
camp fire until it glowed, to rid herself of the hateful tattoo.

At the next town she traded her horse for an unbroken gelding and a handful of
coins. Eventually, she made her way to Sianim, where her skill with horses earned
her a home. The mercenary city-state had offered her refuge, but now it offered even
more.

She had been given the opportunity to take something from the slavers, if she