"Debra Doyle & James MacDonald - Mageworlds 03 - By Honor Betray'd" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Debra)

тАЬWe brought the emergency medikit over from Naversey,тАЭ Vinhalyn said. тАЬThere may be
something in there that can help you out.тАЭ
тАЬI donтАЩt think so. ItтАЩs not that kind of an ache.тАЭ
 тАЬIf youтАЩre sure . . . тАЭ
тАЬIтАЩm sure,тАЭ she told him. тАЬIтАЩm a medic, remember?тАЭ
The expression on his face made it plain that he hadnтАЩt, in fact, remembered. Llannat shook her
head, resigned.
тАЬNever mind,тАЭ she said. тАЬI have trouble remembering it myself sometimes. Believe me, life was a
whole lot easier when I was just Ensign Hyfid of the Space Force Medical Service.тАЭ
Of course, that was before I started hearing voices that werenтАЩt there and seeing things
that hadnтАЩt happened yet and coming loose from my body while I was drifting off to sleep at night.
Nobody asked me if I wanted all of that, but I got it anyway . . . and the next thing I knew, there I
was on a mountaintop on Galcen, with Master Ransome himself asking me if I wanted to join the
Guild and be an Adept.
Llannat sighed. And like a fool, I said yes.
Vinhalyn looked at her. The scholar-reservist was an older man whose active service dated back
to the end of the First Magewar, and he deferred to Llannat as he had to the Adepts of those earlier
days. тАЬIf thereтАЩs anything I can do to help . . . тАЭ
тАЬNot really,тАЭ she said. тАЬBut thanks. Let me know when we make contact with Gyfferan Inspace
Control.тАЭ
Vinhalyn nodded and left.
Llannat watched him go, then went back to looking for a cup. When she found one, on a shelf
where a half-dozen of the standard-issue plastic mugs from Naversey stood among the DeathwingтАЩs
shorter, rounder ones, she poured herself some chaтАЩa from the galley urn. What sort of hot drink the
Mageworlders had brewed in the big metal pot she didnтАЩt know-maybe Vinhalyn did; sheтАЩd have to ask
him about it sometime-but the DaughterтАЩs current crew had managed to adapt the filtration setup to
produce chaтАЩa of hair-curling strength.
She sipped at the steaming liquid. The Professor would have known what they used to brew
on board the old Deathwings, she thought. He probably drank enough of it in his day.
тАЬWhatтАЩs this тАШprobablyтАЩ nonsense?тАЭ she muttered to herself. тАЬThe Prof owned this ship, galley
and all.тАЭ
He hadnтАЩt just owned it; that was the problem. The Professor-whose true name she had never
learned, and doubted that anyone living had ever heard-had been a Magelord himself before he
abandoned sorcery and gave his oath to the ruling House of Entibor. What kept Llannat Hyfid awake
during the night and made her pace the shipтАЩs corridors during the day was knowing that the Professor
had intended NightтАЩs-Beautiful-Daughter for her.
First his staff, she thought. Then his ship. What other little bequests does he have for me
that I havenтАЩt found yet?
The original legacy had come to Llannat blamelessly enough. SheтАЩd lost her own staff in the
fighting on Darvell, the same day the Professor had died, and Beka Rosselin-Metadi-in an impatient,
almost unthinking gesture-had given her the dead manтАЩs staff as a replacement. Master Ransome, who
hated the Magelords as he hated nothing else in the civilized galaxy, wasnтАЩt likely to be pleased with
Llannat if he ever found out. In the end, however, an AdeptтАЩs choice of staff was a personal decision.
Not even the Master of the Guild could force her to alter it.
The ship was something else again. The Professor had emptied NightтАЩs-Beautiful-Daughter to
vacuum and left her to drift. When the derelict raider turned up in the Mageworlds Border Zone, the pilot
and copilot were still on board-five hundred years after the Professor had cut their throats and left
Llannat Hyfid a message written in their blood.
тАЬAdept from the forest world: bring this message to She-who-leads . . . тАЭ
Those were the words as Llannat remembered them, from the waking dream in which she had