"Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Freedom Flight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

"Dangerous words from a low-born Kilrathi. Now that the Prince has
cleared me of suspicion, you might wish to remember that I outrank you,
fool." He narrowed his eyes, and allowed his neck-ruff to rise. "You are too
unworthy to challenge. Would you like to spend some time in your own
stockade? It is not very comfortable, as I have learned in these last days."
 Jahkai gestured sharply, and the guards stepped back. Ralgha smiled
again, the full smile of the victor, all fangs exposed, and walked into the
hallway. A few moments later, he was out in the street, breathing deeply of
the clean air. He had been locked in a dark, damp cell for ten days, and in
that time had not seen the warm sunlight on the leaves of the birha trees.
They were blossoming now, large red flowers filling the air with a sweet
scent. This street was lined with the trees, a sharp contrast to the stone
buildings and grey-paved streets, the white-capped mountains overlooking
the Old City. It reminded him of home, of his native planet of Hhallas,
where he had lived his childhood, before spending his years in officer's
training on Kilrah. Many Kilrathi said they admired the metallic splendor
of Kilrah, the silver walls and tall towers of the Imperial planet. Not
RalghaтАж even after all these years he still yearned for the wild mountains
and untamed wilderness of his home planet.

The sun was setting behind the icy peaks, bright against the snow.
Ralgha began to walk quickly. There was not much time left, before he had
to board his ship and order his crew for their departure.

He walked through the winding streets, stepping over an unconscious
Kilra'hra that was thoroughly intoxicated on arakh leaves, walking past a
group of slaves laboring in the street. At the next street, he turned into the
open market, smelling the rich scents of fresh meat and fish displayed on
carts and tables. The market was not too crowded at this hour, as the
shopkeepers and carters had already sold most of their wares.

A young female human, with very short dark head-fur and dressed in a
plain brown shift decorated with the sigil of Sivar, looked up at Ralgha for
a long moment as he strode past. A slave of the Priestesses of the
Warrior-God, he guessed. He glanced back at the next corner, to see her
only a few feet behind him. Following him, yes. He walked down the street,
pausing in a doorway to let the female catch up with him. "What do you
want, girl?" he asked gruffly.

"Eight eights of pardons, my lord," the girl said in heavily-accented
Kilrathi. "Lady Hassa would speak with you, my lord. If you would please
to follow me, I will take you to her now."

He nodded and followed her down the shadowed street. She moved with
surprising grace, for a human. Ralgha had not had much experience with
humans, except for a few slaves and, of course, captured enemy pilots, and
those only for a few moments before they were taken away by Imperial
Intelligence. He had heard many strange things about humans. The oddest
was that the Terrans actually chose their leaders, like one would choose a