"Cook, Glen - Dread Empire 01 - Shadow Of All Night Falling" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Glen)

Turran's laughter drowned the avalanches momentarily. "About fifteen years overdue." His expression soured. "Mother's fault." Valther knew his mother only by hearsay. She had died giving Nepanthe life, only a year after his own birth. The "mother" Turran meant, and to whom all often referred, was their father's second wife, a grimly antisexual woman, "She told Nepanthe about men, and no one's proven her wrong..."

"Wrong. What's wrong?"

"Eh?"

"You didn't call me here to talk about Nepanthe's sex life. Or lack of one."

"No, but that's part of it. This fellow she's falling for. Crackpot of some kind, supposedly harmless, with a knack for beating her moods. No, the problem's what your man tacked on the end of the report. And what he wrote later."

"What?" Valther was growing impatient.

"The night the first message was sent, hill bandits attacked Iwa Skolovda. The city, not outlying hamlets. They came down the Silverbind undetected, crossed the wall, opened the gate-all without being noticed."

"Treachery. Someone was paid."

"Of course. And you haven't heard the worst. Rolf says they were five or six hundred strong."

"No. Impossible. That'd mean someone's united the tribes."

"But they've been feuding for ages."

"Right. I watch these things. There hasn't been a rumor out of that country, except that a wizard took up residence near Gron last fall. I checked him out. An herbalist, a witch-doctor, no real magician."

"Yet somebody organized the tribes if they attacked? Right?"

"Yes."

"So that somebody has to be your witch-doctor if he's the only foreigner around. You accept that?"

"Again, yes. None of the chiefs would take orders from any of the others. But that still doesn't make sense."

"No. No charlatan would have the skill to lead an army. Unless he was something else entirely..."

"I still don't think it's possible..." Valther blanched. "Oh, what a fool! Haroun bin Yousif!"

"What?"

"It was right in front of me all the time. I should've done something six months ago. Gods, I'm blind. That witch-doctor was Haroun bin Yousif."

"What're you gibbering about?"

"Think! If you can't afford the Guild or ordinary mercenaries, want to make war and have a shot at winning, what do you do?"

After a minute, Turran sighed, nodded gloomily. "Hire Haroun bin Yousif, the King Without A Throne. The 'hero' of Libiannin and Hellin Daimiel. I'll buy it. It fits too neat. What's he doing here?"

Valther shook his head. "Last I heard he was supposed to be working with the staff of the Itaskian Army, developing tactics for the Coast Watch militia to use against Trolledyngjan raiders while they're waiting for the regulars to arrive."

"Find out!" Turran's command was as cold and sharp as the winter wind. "I want to know why he left a sinecure to lead savages. I want to know every word he spoke the month before he left, with whom, and why. And every move he made. I want it all, and I want it quick. Flood Itaskia with agents. Because the other message was nasty. Nepanthe couldn't hold Iwa Skolovda. The old King's supporters rebelled in concert with the bandit attack. She claims it was planned. I should've left Red beard with her. Preshka the pupil isn't Grimnason the master."