"David Freer - The Forlorn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Freer Dave)

without too long a fall below her. Perhaps there would be a drainpipe or something to climb down. She
left the ridgeline and began her cautious descent.

Which rapidly became an uncontrolled high-speed descent. With two or three loose slates for company
she flew clear over the edge, to crash onto the balcony. Half stunned, it took her a moment or two to
come to her senses. There was a sound of running feet. She scrambled off her knees, and darted to hide
behind some curtains just inside the doorway.

The feet thudded past, through the open door and out onto the balcony. "The sounds came from here."
The voice was wooden, with no trace of emotion.

The reply was different. She could hear distaste in the coarse tones. "Slates fallin'. Do whenever th' wind
blows." One traitor guardsman, and one Morkth hiver. Her stomach was a knot of fear, but there was a
blossoming of hatred, too. The Morkth-man, he was the enemy, but the other was something worse, far
more detestable. She could do little to him if they caught her, but at least she would spit in his face. She
began working her dry mouth for the material to carry out her resolve.

"We will search anyway." The Morkth-man did not make it a matter of debate.

"Waste o' time. Only the curtains to hide behind here. I'll take t' left side." That was the side she was on.
She'd been trained to listen for nuances of voice. He had spoken just a shade faster than natural. Did he
know she was there?

She desperately tried to gather spittle for her last act of defiance. Shewould die like Cru, even if all she
wanted to do was to burst into tears.

He pulled aside the curtain in front of her. And put his finger to his lips. Then he stepped calmly away, as
if he had seen nothing. She had but seconds to look at the heavy, brutish face in the lamplight, but it
etched onto her memory. She would never forget that face. . . . Her knees felt as if they might give way
any moment.
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"Nothin' my side." His voice might have betrayed him to his fellows, but the other guard was
unaccustomed to any form of duplicity.

"We must search the other passages." The Morkth-man was not going to give up easily.

"Aw, come on. The doors are all guarded. Nothin's gonna get out'v here. Let's go back to our post at
the stairwell." He was telling her where the guards were stationed. Which stairwell?

"We search." Their footsteps went away up the east passage.

It was at least warmer here, but she knew it was no permanent refuge. She had to get out of the palace,
out of Shapstone, somehow. Therewasone way out of the palace that might not be guarded . . . and her
father's rooms were close. Holding her arms so that the bangles could not tinkle she fled down the
passage toward the great doors that led into his palatial apartments. She peered forward. A guard in
Shapstone livery was snoring peacefully to the side of the doors. She sneaked past him, and cautiously