"Tanya Huff - The Fire's Stone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

and knew she had all the answers but one. What had happened up in the northlands so many years ago
that the pain still ruled Aaron's life?
"My father had her flogged to death. "
That was the easy answer. It explained nothing more than why he'd finally settled in Ischia where
thieves died under the lash. Looking for his cousin's death, he'd someday make the mistake that would
guarantee it.
When he came back, the walls were thicker than ever.
Faharra knew the weak spot now, knew where to place her chisel and strike the blow, but she was afraid.
I'm all he has, she told herself. Can I destroy the walls without
14

Tanya Huff

destroying him, too? And in back of that . . . He's all I have. I can't risk driving him away.

"Selfish, selfish, old woman!"

"Crazy old woman," Aaron muttered.

Faharra started and realized she had spoke aloud. While she had lain, wrapped in memories, Aaron
hadn't moved. It was full dark now, with no moon or stars to break the blackness, but she could still see
him on the window ledge, a shadow against the shadow of the night. He swung his leg over the sill,
balanced half in and half out of the room.

"Aaron." She grubbed among the things she had to say to him but couldn't hold one long enough to bring
it clear. "Come tomorrow," she managed at last.

She felt his eyes on her; studying, weighing, knowing, she was sure, what she wanted to say. It was,
after all, the only thing unsaid between them.

"All right." A long pause, as though he were examining his words. "Tomorrow." Then he was gone.

Faharra drank the last dregs of wine in the goblet and sighed. If he returned tomorrow then maybe, just

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruiswi...ten/spaar/Tanya%20Huff%20-%20The%20Fire's%20Stone.txt (6 of 246)24-2-2006 20:52:56
 file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruiswijk/Mijn%20documenten/spaar/Tanya%20Huff%20-%20The%20Fire's%20Stone.txt

maybe, he was ready to admit to the pain that made his choices for him. And maybe, just maybe, she
would have time to cut this last gem, her greatest work, before she died.

Aaron moved across the rooftops of Ischia, almost happy although he wasn't sure why. He leapt lightly
from a marble corner, clung for an instant around the scaled neck of a gargoyle, and dropped to a
balcony railing ten feet below. His soft leather shoes whispered along the ornate iron, then he launched
himself across an alley to land cat-quiet on the flat root of the building one story down. He paused,
checked that he remained unobserved, sped across the width of the roof, and swarmed up the intricate
carvings on the adjoining building until he was once again three stories above the street.

Let other thieves slink in alleys, he would take the high roads of the city.

Two buildings and a heart-stopping swing from a flagpole later, he dropped onto the wall around