"Be It Ever So Humble" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

"Juan." About to step through the canvas walls, he glanced back over his shoulder. "You still haven't told me if I can fix your arm." His gaze slid over to the demon and then back to the wizard. He shrugged. "Maybe later," he said, and left. Magdelene spent most of the next three days with Carlos. The children treated her like an exotic curiosity and she tried to live up to their expectations. The adults treated her with a wary suspicion and she tried not to live up to theirs. Carlos treated her like a friend. The oldest in the village by a good twenty years, his eyes sometimes twinkled and sparkled and looked no older than Juan's. Sometimes they burned with more mature fires and she longed to give him back his youth if only for a few hours behind the dunes. Sometimes they appeared deeper and blacker and wiser than the night sky. Sometimes they just looked old. Marveling, she realized that he remembered all the ages he had been and more, that they were with him still, making a home, not a prison, of his age. This was his strength, and Magdelene placed the lesson it taught her carefully away with her other precious things. She began to hope the village had a place for her. In the morning of the fourth day, they'd gathered about the well-the wizard and the few adults who remained ashore due to age or disability-when the high-pitched shriek of a child jerked all heads around.

"Riders!"

Screaming out the news of their discovery, Juan and three of the other children burst into the center of the village. The chickens panicked, screeched, and scattered. The adults tried to make sense out of the cacophony.

"One at a time!" The baker finally managed to make himself heard. "Juan, what happened?"

"Riders, uncle!" Juan told him, bouncing in his excitement. "Five of them. On horses. Coming here!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! We were going up the track to look for gooseberries ..." The other three children nodded vigorously in agreement. "... and we met them coming down."

"They aren't traders?"

Juan sighed in exaggerated exasperation. "Uncle, I seen traders before. And these aren't. . ." He noticed the baker was no longer looking at him, noticed no one was looking at him, so he let the last word trail off and he turned.

They rode slowly, with a ponderous certainty more threatening than a wild charge. Voluminous robes in tans and browns hid all but their eyes and each wore a long, curved blade. They stopped, the line of horses reflecting the line of the well, and the rider in the center let the fabric drop from his face.

Nice, thought Magdelene, continuing to stroke the black and white cat sprawled across her lap. Good cheekbones, flashing eyes, full lips, and, she realized, shoulders dropping a little in disappointment, about as congenial as H'sak.

"We have come," said the rider, "for the kayle."

Carlos stepped forward, his hand on Juan's shoulder- both to support himself and to keep the boy from doing anything rash. "What do you have to trade?" he asked levelly.

"Your lives," replied the rider, and his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

Magdelene rolled her eyes. She'd never much cared for melodrama.

"If you take the kayle, we will have nothing when the traders come."

"The traders will not come. The warlord rules here."

"I don't recall being conquered," Carlos snapped, temper showing at last. The rider smiled, showing perfect teeth and no sense of humor. "You are being conquered now." The line of horses took a single step in intimidating unison. Juan's one hand curled into a fist. Magdelene stood, dumping the indignant cat to the ground. "Just one minute," she began. "SILENCE, WOMAN!" the rider thundered. "Stuff a sock in it." She brushed cat hair off her skirt. "You're not impressing anyone." For just an instant, acute puzzlement replaced the rider's belligerent expression. A people in the process of being terrorized simply did not behave in this fashion. With a perceivable effort, he regained his scowl and drew his sword. To either side, his men did the same. "Kill them all," he said. The horses leapt forward and vanished. The saddles and the riders hung in the air for one long second, then crashed to the ground, raising great clouds of dust and more panicked squawking from the chickens. "And as you want the kayle so badly," Magdelene said. Steel swords became silver fish making desperate attempts to get free of the grip on their tails. The children laughed and pointed. When they found they couldn't release the fish, the riders began to panic. "When you get back to your warlord," Magdelene told them smiling pleasantly, "you'll be able to let go. If I can make a suggestion, don't waste any time. Very shortly those fish are not going to be the best of traveling companions." Throwing garbage and clots of dirt, the children chased the riders from the village. Magdelene turned and saw four of the five adults regarding her with awe. Carlos merely looked thoughtful. "With luck, they'll convince their warlord that this village is more trouble than it's worth," Magdelene explained reassuringly, rubbing at the beads of sweat between her breasts. "Unless he has a wizard of his own, he'll only be beaten again if he comes back." She didn't add that even if he did have a wizard, he'd still be beaten-it sounded too much like bragging. Even though it was true.

"And without luck?" Carlos prodded.

Magdalene sighed. "Without luck, I'll just have to convince him myself. But I hope he does the sensible thing."

Carlos snorted. "Men who style themselves 'The Warlord' seldom do the sensible thing."

"Men in general seldom do the sensible thing." Magdelene winked at the baker, who had, after all, only lost one leg at sea. "Fortunately, they have other uses."

Carlos cackled wildly. The baker blushed.

"... although you did say you'd keep out of what didn't concern you."

"My home concerns me."