"Tracy Falbe - The Rys Chronicles 03 - Judgment Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Falbe Tracy)

thought up a song, he would teach it to the others and they would sing it over and over until
someone started another song. It did not matter what anyone wanted to sing as long as it was
done loudly.

The drummers became lost in their own world and their thumping took over the bodies of the
dancers. With increasing joy and abandon, the men danced harder and faster, until they tossed
aside their shirts and their sweat glistened in the glare of the roaring fire.

Dreibrand loved it when it was like this. Surging with energy from the physical exertion, he was free
from thought and worry. He was alive and the land was alive around him and all of them were alive
together. Lost in the ecstasy of dance and song, they all had one voice and they were all in one
place. Whether they had been born in the west and called the life-giving world Gyhwen or they
were easterners who named the world Ektren ceased to matter. The ritual bound them and made
their various homelands and mother tongues seem less important. It made them Nufalese.

The dance of arrival continued until dawn, like it always did, and then the men began to collapse
with exhaustion. The drummers, their hands red and tired, stopped and the morning was quiet for
a few perfect moments before the birds dared to twitter.

Dreibrand was on his knees, panting and dripping sweat. He looked across the valley at the
mountains, the forest, and the lake.

It is mine. It is my dream come true and I will never give it up, he thought.

His stamina was spent and he sprawled onto the trampled grass.

Nufal. He considered it a beautiful name and it whispered through his mind as he fell asleep.

He did not guess that the wild songs of his men had prevented them from hearing the shrieks
erupting from the mountains.


2. Blessings of the War God

We commend the noble class for its allegiance to us that binds society in lawful peace. By granting us
the power to chastise those nobles who stray from our laws, you have avoided civil war and thereby
created our Empire that flourishes and expands. тАФ Zemthute II, Darmar of Atrophane, excerpt from
speech given to the Derataem, year 785 Atrophane calendar.

Although Sandin Promentro knew that he lived a life worthy of the Gods, he took today to show the
divine powers his gratitude. The primary temple to Golan, the God of war, was in Cros, the capital
of the Atrophane Empire. GolanтАЩs house clashed with the other temples on the Holy Avenue.
Gleaming white marble steps, facades of columns, and wide open doors served no purpose for
Golan. Anything less than the circular stone fortress that Sandin approached would offend the
master of war.

The chariot wheels beneath Sandin erupted into a clatter when they hit the bridge. The driver, who
enjoyed the rare times when the archaic vehicle was used in a ceremony, turned to Sandin and
grinned as they crossed the templeтАЩs moat. Sandin maintained his aloof Lord GeneralтАЩs demeanor
and did not return the smile although he felt exceptionally pleasant. The blue pendants toted by his