"Glenda Larke - Heart of the Mirage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Larke Glenda)

'Make a mockery of our legions? A few peasant rebels?' It all seemed rather
unlikely. I recalled the Exaltarch's bitterness when he had spoken of
Kardiastan. Rathrox's reason for involving me might be valid as far as it
went, but it wasn't all; there was something I was not being told. 'And what
about the Brotherhood?'
'There is no Brotherhood in Kardiastan.'
I stared at him in amazement. 'No Brotherhood?' I'd never had much to do
directly with either the vassal states or the provinces, but every Brother
knew we were responsible for security throughout the Exaltarchy, not just in
Tyrans. It had never occurred to me there was any place where Tyr ruled that
was free from the mandibles of the Brotherhood. 'Why ever not?'
'You can't have a Brotherhood where there are no informants, where no one will
spy on his neighbour, where no one can be bought, or cowed, or blackmailed.'
He gave a thin smile. 'A point the public elsewhere tends to overlook, Ligea.
They hate us, but it is they themselves who supply us with our power over
them. Apparently the point is not overlooked in Kardiastan. They are ...
different. A strange people we seem to have been unable to fathom in even
twenty-five years of occupation.' The cold, speculative look of the mantis
staring at its prey. 'Every single agent of the Brotherhood I have sent there
has been dead within a year.'
I was chilled by a depth of fear I had not felt in years. Chilled тАФ and
stirred by the enticing whisper of danger. I said, 'You think I might have a
better chance because I was born a Kardi, because I speak the language,
because I could pass for one of them. Because I once was one of them.'
'Perhaps.' .
His feelings rasped my consciousness, as tangible as grit in the eye. I
thought, Goddess! How he distrusts me ... Even after all the years of my
service, he could still wonder about my loyalty to him.
We stood in the middle of the marbled hall, both motionless, both wary.
Nearby, the life of the palace went on. An anxious-eyed slave scurried past
carrying a basket of fruit; a small contingent of imperial guards marched by,
their sandals squeaking on the highly polished floor. They escorted a royal
courtesan, as thickly painted as a backstreet whore, on her way to the
Exaltarch's quarters. She giggled when she caught sight of me, her lack of
manners as blatant as the trail of perfume she left behind. Neither Rathrox
nor I took any notice.
I asked, 'So I am to be sent to a land said to be so hellish it's akin to the
realm of the dead? Without anyone asking if that was what I wished.'
'It is unwise to disobey the order of the Exaltarch.'
'It was your idea.'
'It is only a temporary thing. You will soon be back in Tyrans.'
I stared at him, hearing the lie. 'You don't intend me ever to return,' I said
flatly. 'You think I will be too invaluable there.' You wish to be rid ofme...
'Those in service to the Exaltarchy must serve where they are of greatest
value.'
I interrupted. 'And that is not the only reason which motivates you, Magister
Officii. I think you have come to fear me. I am too good at my job. It worries
you that you cannot lie to me, that I know the feelings seething behind that
expressionless face of yours. So now it comes to this: a posting without hope
of recall. What is it they say of Kardiastan? A land so dry the dust is in the