"Barbara Hambly - Darwath 5 - Icefalcons Quest" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hambly Barbara)

thought of that one because the whole area around the Keep-and every foot of ground in the camp, set
far enough from the walls to make spell-casting difficult for amateurs, said Ilae-had been swept and
plucked of last year's dead leaves and weeds like a king's garden on his daughter's wedding day.
On the heels of the second flame-burst Lord Sketh stepped forth, raised high the white flag of truce, and
cried out in the ha'al tongue, "Parley! We beg a parley!" while at the same moment Janus slammed shut
the inner Doors and twisted the locking-ring.
Gil was watching Ilae's eyes. She saw them flare wide and heard the gasp of her breath and knew Lord
Sketh had been fired on or otherwise attacked in the doorway. Minalde, watching, too, said in her very
clear sweet voice, "I told that imbecile."
"He's safe in," said Ilae a moment later. "Melantrys got the Doors shut."
Janus and Caldern worked the locking-rings and opened the inner Doors. Sketh and Melantrys emerged
from the glowstone-lit passageway between the outer Doors and the inner, Sketh blanched and trembling
with shock, Melantrys pulling a crimson-feathered arrow out of the extravagant hide flap of her boot-top.
Their feet crunched on the dry hay and tinder with which the gate-passage was heaped. Gil guessed his
Lordship's pallor was due in part to fear that Ilae would get his signals wrong and prematurely ignite this
last-ditch incendiary defense.
"Satisfied?" demanded Janus, who hadn't forgotten Barrelstave's imputation of warmongering.
Minalde hurried forward and took Lord Sketh's hands. "Thank you, my Lord," she said, lifting her voice
just a trifle so all around the gate could hear. "That took courage, braving the enemy. So now we know."
"They never even listened," whispered Lord Sketh. He looked about to be sick. Lady Sketh hurried up,
a stout blond woman almost as tall as her husband, the decoration and jewelry on her clothing making
Alde look like a poor relation. "Never so much as paused. The moment I stepped forth, they started
shooting, ran up the steps, swords drawn, with no intent to parley."
"Now we know," repeated Minalde, patting his hand like a sister. Janus muttered sotto voce to Gil, "Like
we didn't know before. They pounding at the Doors now, Ilae, me love?"
The mage shook her head, still standing under the nearest glowstone basket, scrying stone cupped in her
palm. "They didn't even come up to them. The minute they closed, they stopped."
Janus whistled through his front teeth, eyebrows raised. "So what then?" he asked. "They know there's
but the one entrance. What're they waiting for? Someone inside to betray us?"
He looked around, his reddish-brown eyes questing the faces of the Guards, of Lord Sketh, of Enas
Barrelstave, who stood nearby looking equal parts shaken and indignant, and Lady Sketh who, in the
process of enfolding her husband in several acres of fur-lined sleeves, was careful to include Minalde in
the embrace as well.
Gil was silent, a thought coming to her, but she said nothing until she and Minalde were walking back to
the Royal Sector through the vast near darkness of the livestock-scented Aisle.
As they crossed the last of the railless stone bridges, turned their steps toward the laundry-hung arch of
the Royal Stair, Gil said softly, "Alde, we're always hearing how the Doors are the only way into the
Keep-how the Keep was built that way to be the perfect defense against the Dark Ones. Do we know
those are the only doors?"
"Yes," said Minalde, startled. She stopped at the foot of the Royal Stair, plum-dark eyes wide, pinpricks
of reflection swimming in them from the votive lamps of St. Prool's statue in a niche. "I mean, Eldor said
... All the records of the Keep say that it was built that way to keep the Dark Ones from entering..."
"I know," said Gil. "But we don't have records from the building of the Keep. Only traditions, and
hearsay, and tales." She folded her arms and glanced back toward the Doors, where the Guards still
crowded around Ilae. Men and women kept coming up to them, weavers and tub-makers and
gardeners, asking questions and divesting themselves of their opinions with much arm waving and jostling.
"Are we sure there's no other way in? Because those people outside the gate sure act like they think
there is."

"It's nothing to worry about." Bektis carefully replaced his scrying ball in its bags of silk, fur, and velvet,