"Kate Elliott - Jaran 2 - An Earthly Crown" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elliott Kate)

whose sides shook in the wind that scoured the summit. Between the northern end,
where the two young men stood on an escarpment of rock, and the tent lay a broad
stretch of ground smoothed by generations of wind and storm. On this ground, on the
earth itself, some on blankets, some on pillows, sat the assembled commanders and
elders of the thousand tribes of the jaran.
At the very back sat the younger men, commanders of a hundred riders each;
many now wore the scarlet shirts, brilliant with embroidery on the sleeves and collar,
that had come to be the symbol of the jaran army, though a few still wore the colors
of their own tribe. In front of them sat a sea of elders, some ancient and frail, some
elderly but robust, female and male both.
At the very front sat the etsanas of the thousand tribes, each headwoman flanked
by the dyan, the warleader, of her tribe. Most of the women were elderly, though a
few were young. They wore their finest clothing, bright silk blouses beaded with gold
and silver under calf-length tunics. Striped, belled trousers swelled out underneath.
Jeweled headdresses and necklaces and torques and bracelets adorned them, and their
hand mirrors hung free of their cases, face out in the glare so that they reflected the
light of the sun. So many wore tiny bells that a faint tinkling chime could be heard,
underscoring the rush of wind and the solemn proceedings.
The dyans, too, wore their finest shirts, twined animals or interlaced flora
embroidered with lavish detail on the sleeves and capped with epaulets fastened on
their shoulders. Each man wore sheathed at his belt a saber and most held a lance, so
that the gathering resembled a sea of bright colors tipped with metal.
In a semicircle before the awning that stretched out from the tent sat ten women
and eight men, the women on fine silken pillows and the men beside them on woven
blankets: the etsanas and dyans of the Ten Eldest Tribes, the first tribes of the jaran.
The men held their sabers, unsheathed, across their knees. Each woman gripped a
staff from whose tip hung a horsetail woven with ribbons and golden harness, the
symbol of their authority.
"Two dyans missing," said Feodor Grekov in a low voice to Aleksi. Aleksi
glanced at him, and Grekov cocked his head toward the assembly. "Of course,
Bakhtiian himself is the dyan of the Orzhekov tribe. But Sergei Veselov never
arrived. I heard that he's ill."
"That's the news I brought," said Aleksi. "Sergei Veselov is dead. He died two
days past."
"Who will become dyan, then? Arina Veselov's brother sits beside Bakhtiian, but
everyone knows it isn't fitting for a brother and sister to act as etsana and dyan
together."
"Sergei Veselov has a son, still, who could claim the position," said Aleksi
slowly, not much interested in the Veselov tribe's troubles. He stared at the tent and at
the small figures clustered underneath the awning.
"I don't think I've heard of him. Is he here?"
 "No."
"Perhaps he doesn't know his father is dead. Perhaps he doesn't want to be dyan."
Aleksi shrugged. "I met him once, a long time ago. I don't know if he'd want the
position." He added, under his breath: "Or if he did, if they would let him take it."
Then he caught in his breath, because he had seen, under the awning, a woman
dressed in man's clothing, the red shirt and black trousers and boots, armed with a
saber.
Feodor Grekov made a tiny, strangled noise in his throat. "That's her, isn't it?" he
asked. "That's Bakhtiian's niece."