"Dave Duncan - The Seventh Sword - 2 - The Coming Of Wisdom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

assassins, swordsmen killers. Kandoni had told her so, many times. She would
have to convince them that they were looking in the wrong place. A priest or
priestess must never tell a lie and was therefore a favored witness, even if she
had been his wife and not disinterested. And there were a dozen others. The
killers had come from Ov.
But the assassination had not been reportedтАФor at least, she did not think it
had been. She did not need to repeat the code of the priesthood to know mat
prevent bloodshed came very high on her list of duties to the Goddess.
A pebble rolled under her foot, and she stumbled. Even in daylight this bend of
the gorge was a tunnel, confined between steep walls and overshadowed by trees.
The stream bubbled quietly at her side. The rain had stopped, or could not get
through the canopy. She picked her way carefully, testing every step, stretching
out her hands to feel for branches.
If these swordsmen had come by chance, then they might not
DAVE DUNCAN 7
know about Ov. They might not know that they would soon be in terrible danger
themselves.
Or they might have been brought by the Hand of the Goddess. In that case, their
interest must be more than just one murdered old warrior. Their objective might
be Ov itselfтАФwar! There might be a whole army down by the jetty. That was what
Kandoni had said to the first rumors of the massacre in Ov: "Sorcerers are not
allowed near the River!"
Then, when the rumors had became more solid, he had said, The Goddess will not
stand for it. She will summon Her swordsmen..."
Two days later Kandoni had himself been dead, felled before he even had time to
draw his sword, slain by a single trill of music. He had been a good man, in his
way. He had lived by die code of the swordsmen, an honorable man, if not a very
understanding or exciting husband for a juvenile apprentice priestess. She
wished she could have helped him more. She should have pretended a little
harder.
The local expert... but all she had were vague memories of the stories Kandoni
had told her, rambling on for hour upon hour, an old man with nothing but his
memories of youth and strength, of wenching and killing; an old mart clasping
his child bride in clammy embrace in a barren bed through endless winter nights.
She should have listened more carefully.
Quili stopped suddenly, heart thumping. Had she heard something ahead of her? A
twig snapping?
She listened, hearing only the stream and pattering dripping noises. It must
have been her imagination. She went on, more slowly, more cautiously. She had
been crazy to come without a light, for she knew that her night vision was poor.
The priesthood was sacrosanct. No one, not the worst brigand, would harm a
priestess. So they said.
She ought to be rejoicing at the thought of Kandoni being avenged. At fifteen
she had been married; at sixteen a widow. At seventeen she found it hard to
mourn, however much she reproached herself. She could perhaps have gone back to
the temple, when Swordsman Kandoni had no further need for her services, but she
had stayed. The tenants had made her wel-
8
THE COMING OF WISDOM
come and they needed her. So did the slaves, much more so. Her ladyship had let