"George R. R. Martin - Dying of the Light" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

He became angry. Why was she doing this to him? She had held the jewel and felt his feelings. She could have
guessed. No need of hers could be worth the price of this remembering.
Then, finally, calm came back to Dirk t'Larien. With his eyes tight shut, he could see the canal on Braque again,
and the lone black barge that had seemed so briefly important. And he remembered his resolve, to try again, to be as
he had been, to come to her and give whatever he could give, whatever she might need-for himself, as well as for
her.
He straightened with an effort, unfolded his arms, opened his eyes, and sat up into the biting wind. Then,
deliberately, he looked at Gwen and smiled his old shy smile for her. "Ah, Jenny," he said, "I'm sorry too. But it
doesn't matter. I didn't know, but that doesn't matter. I'm glad I came, and you should be glad too. Seven years is too
long, right?"
She glanced at him, then back at her instruments, and licked her lips nervously. "Yes. Seven years is too long,
Dirk."
"Will I meet Jaan?"
She nodded. "And Garse too, his teyn."
Below, somewhere, he heard water, a river lost in the darkness. It was gone quickly; they were moving quite fast.
Dirk peered over the side of the aircar, down past the wings into the rushing black, then up. "You need more stars,"
he said thoughtfully. "I feel as though I'm going blind."
"I know what you mean," Gwen said. She smiled, and quite suddenly Dirk felt better than he had for a long time.
"Remember the sky on Avalon?" he asked.
"Yes. Of course."
"Lots of stars there. It was a beautiful world."
"Worlorn has a beauty too," she said. "How much do you know of it?"
"A little," Dirk replied, still looking at her. "I know about the Festival, and that the planet is a rogue, and not much
else. A woman on the ship told me that Tomo and Walberg discovered the place on their jaunt to the end of the
galaxy."
"Not quite," said Gwen. "But the story has a certain charm to it. Anyway, everything you'll see is part of the
Festival. The whole planet is. All the worlds of the Fringe took part, and the culture of each is reflected here in one
of the cities. There are fourteen cities, for the fourteen worlds of the Fringe. In between you've got the spacefield and
the Common, which is sort of a park. We're flying over it now. The Common is not very interesting, even by day.
They had fairs and games there in the years of the Festival."
"Where is your project?"
"The wilderness," Ruark said. "Beyond the cities, beyond the mountainwall."
Gwen said, "Look."
Dirk looked. At the horizon he could vaguely make out a row of mountains, a jagged black barrier that climbed out
of the Common to eclipse the lower stars. A spark of bloody light sat high upon one peak, and it grew as they drew
near. Taller and higher it became, though not more brilliant; the color stayed a murky, threatening red that reminded
Dirk somehow of the whisperjewel.
"Home," Gwen announced as the light swelled. "The city Larteyn. Lar is Old Kavalar for sky. This is the city of
High Kavalaan. Some people call it the Firefort."
He could see why at a glance. Built into the shoulder of the mountain, rock beneath it and rock to its back, the
Kavalar city was also a fortress-square and thick, massively walled, with narrow slit windows. Even the towers that
rose behind the city walls were heavy and solid. And short; the Mountain loomed above them, its dark stone stained
bloody by reflected light. But the lights of the city itself were not reflected; the walls and streets of Larteyn burned
with a dull glowering fire of their own.
"Glowstone," Gwen told him in answer to his unvoiced question. "It absorbs light during the day and gives it back
at night. On High Kavalaan, it was used mostly for jewelry, but they quarried it by the ton and shipped it off to
Worlorn for the Festival."
"Baroque impressive," Ruark said. "Kavalar impressive." Dirk only nodded.
"You should have seen it in the old days," Gwen said. "Larteyn drank from the seven suns by day and lit the range
by night. Like a dagger of fire. The stones are fading now-the Wheel grows more distant every hour. In another