"Jordan, Robert - Wheel of Time 10 - crossroads of twilight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

left a tall pointed arch wide enough for ten men to pass. Within
the windowless oval room, half a hundred lanterns of every size and
sort beat at shadows, though the light barely reached the domed
ceiling. Separated by a wide expanse of floor, two groups of men
stood against the painted walls, and if the White Ribbon had
induced them to leave off helmets, all two hundred or more were
armored otherwise, and certainly no one had put aside his swords.
To one side were a few Domani lords as powerful as Shimron--
Rajabi, Wakeda, Ankaer--each surrounded by his cluster of lesser
lords and sworn commoners and smaller clusters, of few as two or
three, many containing no nobles at all. The Dragonsworn had
councils, but no one commander. Still, each of those men was a
leader in his own right, some counting their followers in scores, a
few in thousands. None appeared happy to be where he was, and
one or two shot glares across the floor, to where fifty or sixty
Taraboners stood in one solid mass and scowled back. Drag-
onsworn they might all be, yet there was little love lost between
Domani and Taraboners. Ituralde almost smiled at the sight of the
outlanders, though. He had not dared to count on half so many
appearing today.
"Lord Rodel Ituralde comes under the White Ribbon." Shim-
ron's voice rang through the lantern shadows. "Let whoever may
think of violence search his heart, and consider his soul." And that
was the end of formality.
"Why does Lord Ituralde offer the White Ribbon?" Wakeda
demanded, one hand gripping the hilt of his longsword and the
other in a fist at his side. He was not a tall man, though taller than
Ituralde, but as haughty as if he held the throne himself. Women
had called him beautiful, once. Now a slanting black scarf covered
the socket of his missing right eye, and his beauty spot was a black

G L I M M E R S OF T H E P A T T E R N 23


arrowhead pointing at the thick scar running from his cheek up
onto his forehead. "Does he intend to join us? Or ask us to surren-
der? All know the Wolf is bold as well as devious. Is he that bold?"
A rumble rose among the men on his side of the room, part mirth,
part anger.
Ituralde clasped his hands behind his back to keep from finger-
ing the ruby in his left ear. That was widely known as a sign that
he was angry, and sometimes he did it on purpose, but he needed
to present a calm face, now. Even while the man spoke past his ear!
No. Calm. Duels were entered into in anger, but he was here to
fight a duel, and that required calm. Words could be deadlier
weapons than swords.
"Every man here knows we have another enemy to the south,"
he said in a steady voice. "The Seanchan have swallowed Tarabon."
He ran his gaze over the Taraboners, and met flat stares. He never
had been able to read Taraboners' faces. Between those preposterous