"Mindy L. Klasky - Glasswright Journeyman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Klasky Mindy L)

Thousand Gods. Now, he was clothed in the simple green robes that all the priests wore in
springtime, his unadorned surplice falling from his narrow shoulders like a curtain. His lips
were chapped inside his sparse black beard, but they twisted into a passing smile. "Lady
Rani, you honor us with your presence." The priest turned toward his superior and raised his
voice. "Father, do you remember Lady Rani?"

The Holy Father leaned forward, his skull-like head trembling on a neck that seemed too thin.
Rani caught her breath; she remembered looking up at the Holy Father with all the awe of a
child, with the certainty that he alone stood between her and the tricksy power of all the
Thousand Gods.

King Halaravilli's reign had not been kind to the Holy Father. The old man was bent, his
spine collapsing upon itself, and his hands shook with uncontrolled palsy as he leaned heavily
on an oaken walking stick. His gaze was cloudy, and his right eye watered, as if he were
bothered by dust or new-mown hay. His voice quavered as he raised a trembling hand in
blessing, "Lady Rani. First Pilgrim. But that was not your name then, was it?"
Rani blushed at the subterfuge she had played so long ago. "No, Holy Father. You knew me
as Marita."

"Blessed be Jair," the Holy Father intoned, and Rani was not certain that he had heard her or
that he had understood her words.

In any case, Dartulamino aped the Holy Father's sacred sign across his own chest, and then
the younger man turned back to the king. "Aye, blessed be Jair, who watches over all
Morenia," the priest said. Rani thought she heard a warning behind those words, a message
from the Fellowship. But before she could be certain, Hal gestured his guests over to the
marquetry table that stood in the center of the room.

Ordinarily, Rani admired the inlaid wood, letting her fingers play across its impossibly
smooth surface. Tonight she found the beautiful work distracting, just as she found that she
could not concentrate on the finest golden goblet or the carved ivory fork beside her trencher.
She was present as a negotiator, as a merchant. She would have time to dwell on all the finery
later.

For now, she needed to devote her attention to the trade being conducted around her.

That work was not long in beginning. As the servants brought in steaming trays of
fresh-roasted meats, Dartulamino nodded shrewdly. A footman served him a portion of
pheasant prepared with fresh herbs, and the priest observed, "It's surprising to see the
Defender's kitchens unaffected by the recent tragedy in Moren's streets."

Defender. The title was perfectly appropriate, but it underscored Hal's submission, labeling
the king a servant to the church. Not a good stance for beginning negotiations.

"Unaffected?" Hal sat back in his chair to let the footman place food on his own trencher.
"Hardly, my lord. My kitchens, my palace, all of Moren suffers from the fire. I merely hoped
to honor you and the Holy Father, and to provide you with a token of my pleasure that you
could join us tonight."

"One man's tokenтАФ," Dartulamino began, but he was interrupted by the Holy Father