"Clayton Emery - Lost Empires 03 - Star of Cursrah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

legendary First Trader, who gained his color by touching first gold, then silver, then copper. Her
narrow face, proud nose, and glorious black hair thick as a mare's tail, bespoke far-off ancestors from
Zakhara who'd frolicked with pirates of the Shining Sea, or so said the family legend.
Typically argumentative, Amber's ancient relatives had splintered from the Scimitar of FireтАФa
pirate bandтАФpossibly over a division of loot or possibly after offending Bhaelros, the demented and
destructive bringer of storms and shipwreck. For whatever reason, they quit the ocean and stepped
ashore in 1235, just in time to meet the Year of the Black Horde. Under Many-Greats-Aunt Kidila the
Kite, the pirate clan had helped storm a city of Tethyr and carry off both treasure and noble folk, many
of whom also became Amber's ancestors. The pirates had also, accidentally, rescued a cousin of the
caleph from rampaging orcs. Playing on the caleph's generosity, and avoiding Bhaelros's cold breath,
the ex-pirates turned to piracy ashore.
Into this tumultuous history had stepped a great-grandmother who was a Kahmir, one of four
powerful families that ruled Calimshan and a criminal underground for centuries. Such longevity, even
in illegal trade, brought respectability in rough-and-tumble Calimshan, so Amber's family was
elevated to not-quite ynamalikkars, the titled landowners of the city's skirts.
This explained why Amber yr Nureh el Kahmir, to use her full name, could don a crimson kaffiyeh
and sash with a bold yellow stripe, as decreed by a grateful caleph. She hurried now to sling on
another leather vest, stuffing its deep pockets with a comb and mirror, tin of lip ointment,
handkerchief, calfskin gloves, and other traveling trinkets.
"Aha!" burst a voice from the door. "There you are."
"Opp!" A comb flew in the air as Amber jumped. "Mother, you'll give me a heart attack."
"I'll give you more than that. Where do you think you're going?" Amber's mother asked. She folded
her arms like a queen, giving Amber an eerie preview of herself in middle age, since daughter
resembled mother. Age had piled on a webwork of wrinkles, sagging breasts, and even wider hips
from birthing a batch of brats, all features that made Amber resolve to never marry nor have children.
Too, Mother's voice got shriller year by year. "Your father hunted for you all morning, and his
language was something awful. Now I find you dressing like a tramp in the middle of the dayтАФ"
"I'm going out," Amber interrupted. "Whisht!" Her command word sparked an oil lamp over her
tall mirror. Daintily she wound her kaffiyeh over her hair. Her voice turned prim, a formality for their
eternal arguments. "I'm embarking with friends on a holidayтАФ"
"You are not! You've work to do, and I won't have you gamboling through the streets like some
painted houri with a common rug merchant's son and a beggar. Our family has a reputation to uphold,
and you will learn to comport yourself like a rafayam, an 'exalted one,' not some fishmonger's
daughter."
Amber bit her tongue. This argument was so old it creaked. She flung open a carved sandalwood
chest and withdrew a camel hide rucksack and rabbit-felt traveling cloak charmed to repel rain. She
stuffed in a spare pair of horsehide sandals, silk socks clocked with red-eyed tigers, and a fat purse
jingling with silver "worms" and electrum "wings," her spending money. After a moment's hesitation,
she jammed a dog-eared Tales of Terror atop it all. Slinging her rucksack over her shoulder, she strode
for the door.
"You can't imagine," her mother rattled on, "or else don't care how the neighbors' tongues clack,
but I'm sick and tired of hearing Sarefa Zahrah maligning my tomboy daughterтАФare you listening?
Where are you going?"
"I'll be back in a week, maybe," Amber answered, slipping out the door. She marched down the
cool, windowed corridor, swinging her rump sassily to further aggravate her mother, who scampered
after in soft slippers.
"Amber! You can't go gallivanting around wherever and whenever you wish. You have duties!
Obligations! Yuzas Iamar's cousin is coming on a caravan, and her son is said to be comely and
charmingтАФ"
Amber stopped so fast her mother skittered past and had to circle. The young woman announced,