"Tanya Huff - Kigh 1 - Sing the Four Quarters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

"All right," she panted, stepping back. "If I don't shake this bug by the end of the week, I promise
I'll see a healer." With a shaking hand, she dumped a dipper of ash into the privy and fumbled at
the door latch.

A cold wind roared across the courtyard and ripped the door out of her grasp. Reluctantly
stepping out into the weatherтАФshe'd thrown on barely enough clothes for decency and not nearly
enough for warmthтАФshe grabbed the door with both hands and fought to close it behind her. The
wind fought back. Frowning, Annice peered around the edge.

A thin and sharply pointed face, stormy gray eyes the most well-defined point in the shifting
features, hung in the air over the wind-sketched outline of an elongated body. A wide, nearly
lipless mouth opened in silent laughter as long, pale fingers clung to the boards.

"Kigh," Annice muttered. "Just what I needed." Running her tongue over cracked lips, she
whistled a series of four piercing notes.

Its expression clearly stating, I didn't want to stay longer anyway, the kigh let go of the door and
rode the wind out of sight.

The privy door, now pulled in only one direction, slammed shut.

"Shit!" Sucking on her pinched finger and wrapping the other arm around her for warmth, Annice
staggered toward the inn. I remember when I used to like morningsтАж

A wet fall, hanging on long past its time and leaving the roads a muddy quagmire, combined with
the expectation of the river finally freezing had put a damper on

traveling and given Annice not only the Bard's corner but the entire dormitory to herself. Leaning
against the lingering warmth of the huge stone chimney, she tucked in her linen shirt and
struggled to close the carved wooden button at her waist.

"I suspect," she grunted, as she finally forced the button through and reached for her sweater,
"that the cloth for these breeches wasn't as preshrunk as the weaver insisted."

Somewhat to her surprise, as the inn was only a day's walk from the Bardic Hall in Vidor, a
heavy fleece overcoat, very nearly her size, had been left in the closet. Although she'd already
switched to fleece-lined boots, she decided not to take it. It wasn't so cold that her oilcloth jacket
wouldn't do and any bards walking the Final Quarter might need it more. Although she hated


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 Huff, Tanya - Sing the Four Quarters


being wet with a cat's passion, the cold hadn't actually had much effect on her this year. Placing
the folded blankets up onto the shelves, she tossed in the pair of heavy socks she'd just finished
knitting and Sang the closet locked.

Checking that both her instruments were secure, she heaved her pack up onto her shoulders and