"Sharon Green - Lady Blade, Lord Fighter 01 - Silver Bracers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Sharon)

Countess Illi of Fyerlin, intending to see his child raised with all the necessary graces taught her, graces
the ladies of his own house seemed unable to impart to her. The child had been about eleven at the time,
and the Countess was well known for her no-nonsense attitudes and iron determination. The
strong-willed child would be given no recourse save to obey her and learn the womanly virtuesтАж

This time Timper shivered into his cloak, bewildered as to what might have gone wrong. The lady, now a
woman, was not to be found sitting demurely beside her aunt, a fact which Timper was prepared to
swear pleased the Countess! When he had politely requested an audience with the lady, he had been
settled in a chair, handed a glass of sherry, and then gently told that the lady wasn't there. If it was truly
imperative that he see her, her whereabouts might be gotten from the Company clerk of the Silver
Gleaming, one of the Sword Companies camped and billeted in and around Fyerlin. How she had gotten
involved with one of the Blades of a Sword Company no one seemed prepared to discuss, but Timper
prayed he wasn't too late. It was hardly likely that her virginity was still intact, not if she had been in the
company of a Blade for longer than five minutes, but that was the Duke's concern and the concern of the
lady's future husband. His was that he be spared the necessity of having to bring her home already
married-or, worse yet, unmarried but pregnant. The Duke's temper was unlikely to register the fact that
his courier was scarcely apt to be the one responsibleтАж

The lady Sofaltis of the Duchy of Gensea, involved with a Blade of a Sword Company!

Trmper's shudder reached through to his mount, causing the patient, steady beast to raise its head in
momentary distraction. The gelding was hardly the sort of horse to grow skittish, for which Timper was
profoundly grateful. He was skittish enough for the two of them, especially after being sent by the
Company clerk to the barracks, and from the barracks to a house in the city itseif. His demanding the
whereabouts of the lady Sofaltis had gotten him no more than grinning silence, and he'd actually had to
pay those oversized mercenaries for what he needed to know: where the lady was, and nothing more.
The least they could have done was tell him which of the Blades she was involved with, of high rank or
low, so that he would have some idea of the amount of difficulty he would face when the man found he
was to lose the lady's company. Possibly he should have hired his return escort before continuing his
search, but mercenaries were so unreasonably expensive, and he had no idea how long it would take the
lady to have her gowns and possessions packed.

Timper sighed again as he automatically counted streets, then guided his horse right into one whose name
post was conspicuously absent. It was the third or fourth he'd passed that had been rendered anonymous
in just that way, the expected fruits of having carousing mercenaries rollicking through a city. Duke Rilfe
would never have allowed that to happen in their city, but what else was to be expected of those of the
north? Even the nobility there seemed touched with the same tainted outlook, looseness of morals, little
or no sense of duty, a scandalous lack of piety-why, when he'd asked the Countess if he might have a
moment or two with her house priest for the easing of his soul, she'd actually informed him that her house
had only a priest of Evon, no priest of Grail! The courier was sure he'd successfully hidden his shock at
that, but the Countess hadn't been equally successful at masking her unexplained amusement.

There, almost exactly mid-block on the left, was certainly the house he'd been directed to look for!
Timper took in the three torches burning calmly on the front of the large, setback, freely-standing house,
the modest metal spear-fence that stood invitingly open, the demurely draped windows that nevertheless
showed a hint of lamplight behind them, and guided his mount through the fence and toward the
high-pillared front door. He still had no idea whose house he was about to peremptorily enter, but that
made little difference to him. He was a courier, empowered to enter anywhere and everywhere to deliver
his message, and that would be known to whomever resided in that house. If he hadn't been so cold he
would have straightened his shoulders and raised his chin, but gestures like that would have to wait until