"George R. R. Martin - WC 4 - Aces Abroad" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

al-Allah."
"Woman..." Najib began warningly. His voice had a compelling deepness now, a
timbre that brought Misha's head up and made her open her mouth to begin to
speak, to obey without thinking. She shivered as if the wind outside had touched
her.
"Don't use the gift on me, Najib," she said gratingly. Her voice sounded harsh
against that of her brother. "I'm not a supplicant. Compel me too often with
Allah's tongue and you might one day find that Allah's eyes have been taken from
you by my own hand."
"Then be Kahina, Sister," Najib answered, but it was only his own voice now. He
watched as she went to an inlaid chest, took out a strip of cloth, and slowly
wrapped her hand. "Tell me what you just saw. Was it the vision of the jihad?
Did you see me holding the Caliph's scepter again?" Misha shut her eyes,
bringing back the image of the quick waking dream. "No," she told him. "This was
new. In the distance I saw a falcon against the sun. As the bird flew closer, I
noticed that it held a hundred,people squirming in its talons. A giant stood
below on a mountain, and the giant held a bow in his hands. He loosed an arrow
at the bird, and the wounded falcon screamed in anger. The voices of those it
held screamed also. The giant had nocked a second arrow, but now the bow began
to twist in his hands, and the arrow instead struck the giant's own breast. I
saw the giant fall. . . ." Misha's eyes opened. "That's all."
Najib scowled. He passed a glowing hand over his eyes. "What does it mean?"
" I don't know what it means. Allah gives me the dreams, but not always the
understanding. Perhaps the giant is Sayyid-"
"It was only your own dream, not Allah's." Najib stalked away from her, and she
knew that he was angry. "I'm the falcon, holding the faithful," he said. "You
are the giant, large because you belong to Sayyid, who is also large. Allah
would remind you of the consequence of defiance." He faced away from Misha,
closing the shutters of the window against the brilliant desert sun. Outside the
muzzein called from the village mosque: "A shhadu allaa alaha illa llah"-Allah
is great. I bear witness that there is no God but Allah.
"All you want is your conquest, the dream of the jihad. You want to be the new
Muhammad," Misha answered spitefully. "You won't accept any other
interpretation."
"In sha'allah," Najib answered: if Allah wills. He refused to face her. "Some
people Allah has visited with His dreadful Scourge, showing their sins with
their rotting, twisted flesh. Others, like Sayyid, Allah has favored, gifting
them. Each has been given his due. He has chosen me to lead the faithful. I only
do what I must do--I have Sayyid, who guides my armies, and I fight also with
the hidden ones like alMuezzin. You lead too. You are Kahina, and you are also
Fqihas, the one the women look to for guidance."
The Light of Allah turned back into the room. In the shuttered dimness he was a
spectral presence. "And as I do Allah's will, you must do mine."

MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1986, NEW YORK:
The press reception was chaos.
Senator Gregg Hartmann finally escaped to an empty corner behind one of the
Christmas trees, his wife Ellen and his aide John Werthen following. Gregg
surveyed the room with a distinct frown. He shook his head toward the justice
Department ace Billy Ray-Carnifex-and the government security man who tried to