"04 - The Living God 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

1
"Faster, Ylo!" Maya urged. "Make horse go faster!"
She sat on Ylo's lap, jiggling the reins ferociously. As the traces were firmly
gripped in Ylo's strong hands, also, the big gray was probably unaware of the
divided leadership. It certainly did not care. It plodded doggedly, not even
flickering its ears, stoically fulfilling the role the Gods had assigned it.
Every second day it would haul some traveler's rig up the hill. The next day it
would haul another one down. Nothing about that to puzzle a horse. Not even
Ylo's skills would make it go any faster, either, even had he wanted it to.
Huddled in the fur cloak she had not worn in months, Eshiala watched the byplay
with heavenly contentment. She, at least, was in no hurry. Days like these could
go on forever and she would never tire of them. For the last hour the road had
been winding gently upward through a dense mist, so that almost nothing was
visible except the well-fitted stones of the road itself, built centuries ago by
the legions and still in perfect order. Wiry grass along the verge glistened
with dampness and a few ghostly bushes lurked beyond that like predatory wraiths
in the fog. Once in a while now she glimpsed ragged remains of the winter's
snow. Summer came late to the highlands of the Qoble Range.
"You promised me beautiful scenery when we reached the pass," she teased. '
Ylo flashed her a smile. They stopped her heart, those smiles of his, those
bright dark eyes, those long lashes. He could say more with a smile than all the
poems of all the poets of the Impire. "I said you had never seen anything like
the view up here. Well, you still haven't, have you?"
"True!" She laughed.
"And admit it, you are floating in clouds, yes?"
"Yes!" she said. "Very true."
"Well, then!"
"Faster!" Maya demanded.
"Poor old horse!" Ylo said sternly. "He's having to pull all of us up this
great, long hill. He's working very hard. He's an old, old horse, that's why his
hair's turned all white. You ought to get out and walk, so he doesn't have to
work so hard, you great heavy lump!"
That was a mistake. Maya decided she did want to get out and walk, and argued
when he would not let her. She was very good at arguing. At times she behaved as
if she was the rightful-born impress of Pandemia-which she was, even if Pandemia
was no more aware of that than the child herself. How about a birthday party,
Ylo suggested, and a cake with two and a half candles ...
They had seen very little traffic all morning, but now hooves clanked on the
stones behind, coming fast. Eshiala turned and peered back through the little
window. In a moment a ghostly rider materialized out of the mist, gray on gray,
solidifying into color as he approached, scarlet cloak and gold-plumed hat. He
swung out to pass the phaeton without slowing down, cantering on ahead, fading
as swiftly as he had come, the cloud soon muffling the sound. He had been an
Imperial courier, and the fact that he had been only cantering, not galloping,
showed how hard the hill was on horses.
She stole a glance at Ylo and thought she detected a hint of a frown. A hint of
danger? She said nothing. Something had worried him back at the inn that
morning, although he had denied it. She thought he had recognized someone. She
would not pry. She would let nothing ruffle her happiness.