"Elizabeth Lynn - Chronicles of Tornor 2 - The Dancers of Arun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lynn Elizabeth A)

He coughed, and pulled his wide sash more tightly around his
waist. He said, "I didn't hear you come in at all, last night."
Kerris' stump throbbed. "I slept in the barracks," he said.
"In case the raiders come?" said Josen, voice tinged with
gentle mockery. "Even were it to happen, Morven would not let you
fight. You'd be sent to shelter in the storerooms with the old, the
sick, and the children. Why bother?"
"I need to," Kerris said. "I don't care what Morven thinks."
He walked to the oaken worktable. Josen had already laid out on it
their day's work: a pile of ancient scrolls for himself, the monthly
accounts for Kerris. The scrolls smelled musty. He pulled back the
chair. "Shall we get to work?"
Josen shrugged. "As you wish," he said. He crossed the little
octagonal room. Kerris felt a twinge of remorse. He hadn't meant to
put the old man off so harshly. He pulled Josen's cushioned chair out
for him. Once -- before he had Kerris to help him -- Josen had
done the day-to-day work, tallying accounts, keeping records. But
Kerris did this now, and freed from those tasks the old scholar had
chosen to set about a work more interesting: recopying the histories
of Tornor off the ancient scrolls. Morven had no objections. He was
even willing to pay for the fine-haired brushes and the expensive ink
Josen required. (The ink Kerris used faded fast, but cost nothing.
Kerris made it himself out of the ink sacs of the local river eels.
Josen had taught him how to do that.) He glanced at the topmost
scroll as Josen unrolled it. It glinted, here and there. Some of the
letters had been painted with gold, and they shone through the dust.
The old northern runes (which were really a corruption of the
southern runes, Josen said) went up and down on the scrolls. Kerris
could not read them. Josen had taught him only the southern script.
Everyone used it now. The old records in the Keeps were the only
examples left of the northern script, and when these were all copied
into the southern script then no one would remember that there even
had been another way to write, except a few scholars like Josen.
Pretending that nothing had happened, Josen took his brushes
from their wooden, felt-lined case.
Kerris cast about for a means to mend the breach.
"Josen?"
"Hmm?" said the old man.
"What history do you copy today?"
Josen looked pleased. The hurt left his face. He loved to talk
about the histories. "The history of the eleventh lord of Tornor."
"Who was he?"
"His name was Kerwin," Josen said, "like your father." He
closed the brush case and put it to one side. "Most of the record is
taken up with accounts of battles with Anhard. Kerwin was killed in
battle. It was a common death. The Truce wasn't signed until the
reign of Athor, Kerwin's grandson."
Kerris said, "Was there ever a time when there were no
battles?"
Josen frowned. "Tornor was built to be a fortress. But from