"Jane S. Fancher - Dance of the Rings 3 - Ring of Destiny" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fancher Jane S)

"A bit early, don't you think?"
"Can't be." Ganfrion took a carefully measured sip, then
extended the flask again. "Haven't been to bed yet."
The lump's eyes followed his moves, showing a healthy
suspicion, a keen analysis. A good border man, like all
those other lumps lying about. Grant the Rhomandi that
much: luck, good advice, or more sense than Ganfrion had
once attributed to him, he'd recruited a good lot for his
personal guard. Sixseven hundred, perhaps, encamped
here at what amounted to little more than a supply station
in the southwest shadow of Mount Khoratum. Large for a
personal guard, but the Rhomandi hadn't truly gathered
them for his personal protection.
"Maybe you haven't been to bed, but I have." The bor-
der lump made as if to return to sleep. "I'm in it."
"So?" Ganfrion nudged him with a toe. "Hell, man, first
call isn't until midday. The Rhomandi's own order. Break-
fast." He shook the flask suggestively. Eyes and grin above
the blanket edge developed into a stubbled face atop a
hairy chest, then a hand that accepted the flask. The man
sniffed and pulled back. "Whew. That Stuff'11 kill you."
Ganfrion snorted, reclaimed his prize, and gulped a
mouthful. "Where'd the Rhomandi pull you from, missy? A
Kirish'lani slave market?"
The lump growled and grabbed the flask, coughed as the
potent liquid hit his throat, and swallowed again. "Shit, just
my luck, the Rhomandi'll call a surprise muster." Which
expectation did not stop the lump from helping himself to
another hefty sample.
"He won't."
The man snorted and tossed the flask back. "And you,
of course, are in his direct counsel."
Ganfrion just lifted a suggestive brow and took a swig
that should have emptied the flask. It didn't. But he didn't
wonder at that phenomenon any longer. After what he'd
witnessed in the past few days, after what he'd experienced
in the last few hours, he refused to wonder at anything
ever again.
"Who are you?" the lump asked.
"Ganfrion," he answered, then recalled: "Captain Gan-
frion, newly anointed gorMikhyel." As if he could forget.
The flask made another round. "And as your superior, I
order you. It's your sworn duty. For Princeps and Node
and . . . hellsabove, drink to my promotion!"
The lump guffawed, but forced himself to obey the direct
order. The return pass was accompanied by one more of
those Looks. "Captain Ganfrion. Heard of you. .You're the
man the Barrister pulled out of Sparingate Prison and the
Rhomandi himself elevated to Captain. And gorMikhyel?
Hadn't heard that. The Barrister's sworn man? Should I