"W. Michael Gear - Forbidden Borders 1 - Requiem for The Conqueror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gear W Michael)

Ark noted the quick flicker of gray-gloved fingers as they moved in the
Companion's sequence of identification.
"Advance, sir." Ryman stood and allowed the assault rifle to hang easily in
his hands.
The Lord Commander strode forward, the gray cloak billowing behind his tense
body. And yes, his expression looked strained, pale, almost a grimace.
What in the name of the Rotted Gods is wrong?
Ryman shifted his wary glance to the woman who walked with predatory ease at
Staffa's side. Skyla Lyma reminded Ark of an ice leopard. She had that
fluidity of movement and the wary balance of a huntress. Skyla missed nothing,
her glance darting to each of the energy barriers, and then to the disposition
of Ryman's men where they remained crouched behind ready rifles.
She noddedтАФa barely perceptible movementтАФher silverblonde hair swinging in the
long braid that hung looped over her left shoulder. In her glistening white
armor, she appeared the perfect complement to the tall man in gray. Her
authority among the Companions was second only to the Lord Commander's.
Ryman studied the classic lines of her face and wondered.
Her features were perfectтАФthose you might expect of an Etarian Priestess. A
gymnast would have coveted her perfectly toned body and the resilient power
betrayed by her movements. Skyla would be the envy of any man's fantasy and
desireтАФuntil he looked into those chilling eyes. With a gaze that cut like
azure crystals, she inspected him, peeled back his soul, seeking any anomaly.
Skyla's worried about something. And Staffa . . . he's on edge, jumpy as I've
never seen him.
Only up close could a man see the light line of scar tissue angling across
Skyla's cheekтАФsuch rude contrast to the delicate precision of her features and
the promise of those full red lips. A beauty, indeedтАФand cold as the absolute
zero of the Terguzzi ice sheets. Deadly as a Cytean cobra, Skyla had earned
her position by ruthless efficiency.
"My Lord Commander," Ryman greeted, knotting a fist over his heart in the
eternal salute of the Companions.
Staffa placed hands on hips as he studied the defensive layout Ryman had
deployed. A tingle wiggled in Ark's stomach as he caught the distress in
Staffa's faceтАФthe look that of a man preparing for battle . . . and wishing
that he were somewhere else. Those wolf-gray eyes flickered to the door.
A hesitation of ... Ryman denied the sudden hint of fear in Staffa kar
Therma's eyes. Absurd! Perhaps the angle of the light. . . . Ryman stood
straighter, ice tracing fingers through his guts.
The Lord Commander spoke in a soothing, cultured tenor. "Well done, Officer
Ark. Anything unusual? The prisoner is all right?"
"Yes, sir." He swallowed, finding it difficult.
"Nothing suspicious?"
"No, sir. He ... the prisoner . . . only sent one communique, Lord
CommanderтАФand that was to your flagship the Chrysla, sir."
"Very well." It sounded absent and Staffa's expression had gone slack. Could
there have been a eraine of that pale flesh?
like a chi11 lance' PPed through Ryman's soul. Who was this crippled man they
guarded?
The Lord Commander turned to Skyla in a swirl of gray
cloak. "I'll see him alone, Wing Commander. If I ... I'll call should I need