"Dave Duncan - A Man of His Word 3 - Perilous Seas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

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Perilous SeasPerilous Seas
Book 3 of A Man Of His Word
By Dave Duncan
ISBN: 0-345-36630-1


ONE
Favor the deceit

1
In all the Impire, there was no more prosperous province than the island of
Kith. Ever since its conquest in the expansive days of the Xth Dynasty, it had
been the imps' main bastion in the Summer Seas.
It had rich mines, fertile farmland, and a substantial shipping industry. Once
in a while a typhoon would do some damage, or dragons might lay waste along the
northeast shore, but neither had troubled the western coast in centuries, and
there the city of Finrain was the largest and richest on the island, as well as
the greatest port.
Ports needed sailors. The best sailors were jotnar. Imps had good reason to be
jumpy when there were jotnar around, and they firmly encouraged the sailors who
manned Finrain's shipping to make their homes at Durthing, a couple of hours to
the south-close enough to be handy, but distant enough that their violent
impulses could do no damage to Finrain itself, nor its citizens.
Durthing was home also to a few trolls, most of them descendants of slaves
imported from the Mosweeps, because the aboriginal population had pretty much
died out after the Impire came. There were also some mixed bloods, and of course
gnomes to handle the sanitary arrangements. There were even a few imps, but any
imp who chose to live in a jotunnish settlement must have very good reasons, of
the sort that were better not discussed.
Lately, a young sailor of mixed faun-jotunn ancestry had taken up residence.
Although he had been a thrall purchased at enormous expense by Gathmor, the new
master of Stormdancer, he had subsequently been given his freedom. Within
limits. His shipmates did not exactly take turns at keeping an eye on him, but
... Well, he was a good kid and never lacked for company. He had shown no
interest in departing, anyway, but he was much too valuable to be allowed the
opportunity. Moreover, there was only one land road out of Durthing, and it ran
by a post of the Imperial army. Imps were notoriously nosy.
Its fondest resident could not have called Durthing a town, and barely even a
village, for its huts and hovels were scattered at random around the sides of a
shallow, bowl-shaped hollow. The only break in the bowl's symmetry was a notch
where the sea had broken through, back before the oldest Gods. With clear, calm
water and smooth sand for beaching, the near-circular bay was one of the finest
harbors in all of Pandemia. Three little streams watered the slopes, the sea
teemed with fish, and the climate was perfect. Usually a dozen ships lay
anchored there, or pulled up on the beach, and most often two or three more were
under construction.
There was no formal land law in Durthing, for there was no formal law at all.
The sea was a demanding mistress and whenever she stole a lover from his family,