"Robert Jordan - Knife of Dreams Prologue (Embers Falling on Dry Grass)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

Embers Falling on Dry Grass
Prologue
The sun, climbing toward midmorning, stretched GaladтАЩs shadow and those of his three
armored companions ahead of them as they trotted their mounts down the road that ran
straight through the forest, dense with oak and leatherleaf, pine and sourgum, most
showing the red of spring growth. He tried to keep his mind empty, still, but small things
kept intruding. The day was silent save for the thud of their horsesтАЩ hooves. No bird sang
on a branch, no squirrel chittered. Too quiet for the time of year, as though the forest held
its breath. This had been a major trade route once, long before Amadicia and Tarabon
came into being, and bits of ancient paving stone sometimes studded the hard-packed
surface of yellowish clay. A single farm cart far ahead behind a plodding ox was the only
sign of human life now besides themselves. Trade had shifted far north, farms and
villages in the region dwindled, and the fabled lost mines of Aelgar remained lost in the
tangled mountain ranges that began only a few miles to the south. Dark clouds massing in
that direction promised rain by afternoon if their slow advance continued. A red-winged
hawk quartered back and forth along the border of the trees, hunting the fringes. As he
himself was hunting. But at the heart, not on the fringes.

The manor house that the Seanchan had given Eamon Valda came into view, and he drew
rein, wishing he had a helmet strap to tighten for excuse. Instead he had to be content
with re-buckling his sword belt, pretending that it had been sitting wrong. There had been
no point to wearing armor. If the morning went as he hoped, he would have had to
remove breastplate and mail in any case, and if it went badly, armor would have provided
little more protection than his white coat.

Formerly a deep-country lodge of the King of Amadicia, the building was a huge, blue-
roofed structure studded with red-painted balconies, a wooden palace with wooden spires
at the corners atop a stone foundation like a low, steep-sided hill. The outbuildings,
stables and barns, workmenтАЩs small houses and craftsfolksтАЩ workshops, all hugged the
ground in the wide clearing that surrounded the main house, but they were nearly as
resplendent in their blue-and-red paint. A handful of men and women moved around
them, tiny figures yet at this distance, and children were playing under their eldersтАЩ eyes.
An image of normality where nothing was normal. His companions sat their saddles in
their burnished helmets and breastplates, watching him without expression. Their mounts
stamped impatiently, the animalsтАЩ morning freshness not yet worn off by the short ride
from the camp.

тАЬItтАЩs understandable if youтАЩre having second thoughts, Damodred,тАЭ Trom said after a
time. тАЬItтАЩs a harsh accusation, bitter as gall, butтАФтАЭ

тАЬNo second thoughts for me,тАЭ Galad broke in. His intentions had been fixed since
yesterday. He was grateful, though. Trom had given him the opening he needed. They
had simply appeared as he rode out, falling in with him without a word spoken. There had
seemed no place for words, then. тАЬBut what about you three? YouтАЩre taking a risk coming
here with me. A risk you have no need to take. However the day runs, there will be marks
against you. This is my business, and I give you leave to go about yours.тАЭ Too stiffly
said, but he could not find words this morning, or loosen his throat.

The stocky man shook his head. тАЬThe law is the law. And I might as well make use of my
new rank.тАЭ The three golden star-shaped knots of a captain sat beneath the flaring