"Charles Ingrid - Burning Bridges" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

in his eyes as he looked at the monk-mage. They would render what he intended, the facial
the foreign look of him. If it were he, he'd be using a universal recognition graph, vectoring
face and neck into quadrants noting features that would be recognizable no matter wha
apparent disguise. And he was a barbarian.
After long moments of sketching at a furious pace, the pens were lowered. Heads nod
"You will be allowed three days' passage," the elder said. He gave Brennan a fired porce
pass, hanging on a tightly braided crimson cord. It was but a sample of the delicate china w
of the province, colors glazed skillfully, the porcelain so fine it could be seen through.
and fragile. "Show this and you will be admitted. We trust you will not abuse the empe
hospitality."
He bowed low. "I thank you."
Behind him as he left, he heard the sanding and blotting of sheets, his image memorial
They would make a detailed Wanted poster.
Screeches and Sailings of something winged being fed beyond the inner walls follo
after his footfalls.
He had every intention of exploiting that hospitality as far as he could.
Outside the palace and back on the streets, mingled into the crowds, he turned and loo
back at the vast palatial complex, its turrets and wings and walls. A shadowy thing crou
on one of the high turrets, before letting out a screech and launching itself into the ai
raptor's silhouette was highlighted by the late afternoon sun, with formidable tearing beak
claws. It winged in slow, lazy circles before returning to its perch on the tower. It had t
one of the famed bloodseeker nyrll, and he understood then the ritual bowls and
bloodletting.
Back at the inn he'd chosen, he unwrapped his outsider garb, discarded the expended s
from the one wrist and unbound the unmarked one from the left, the thin intestine bulging
fresh blood. The unfortunate donor was no doubt still asleep in a tavern gutter. His si
earring, a crystal drop held by a silver claw stud, whispered softly in his ear. "DNA ma
They'll think they have you."
"But they do not," he murmured back to his mainframe server. He had noted o
leaving, wrists bound, one or two nearly swooning at the sight of their own blood, and he
had squibs ready on either wrist. "Luckily for me they chose the wrist instead of the jug
eh?"
"That is perceived as a joke and is not found humorous." He did not expect her to fin
it that way. Her existence H pended upon him, and his existence depended upon his surv
on this world.
 He sat down with his ceramic pass and sketches and contemplated the evening's w
ahead, absently peeling off the wax nose and then the itchy goatee. He need not worry abou
nyrll; the bloodseeker would have another prey once loosed, but still he would avoid
trouble he could. He needed to get inside the interior vaults and then out, to meet
Mannoc's man make the exchange, and be gone. A treasure of the emperor for a treasure o
forgotten wastes deep in Jaahtcaran territory . . . a fair exchange, even if it did mark him,
the blood debt would follow him all his days, regardless. The Jaahtcar had made him an
he could not refuse.
"Do you ever think about it?" his earring spoke again. "Think about what?" He was
distracted by her, staring at his sketches, planning the vectors of assault. He could not take
of gear with him. He needed to be free-moving, undetectable, and had to be able to shed
whatever he must. "Being abandoned here."
"Missions are aborted out of necessity. Your problem is that you don't know what the
necessity was, and it confounds you. It affects your computing, your decision making. That
why they still send human teams out, as well as your kind. Flexibility." "You are the only o