"Juliet E. McKenna - Aldabreshin 2 - Northern Storm" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKenna Juliet E)

of polished ironwood beads. All the men wore daggers at their hips, but Kheda and Dev were the only
ones with swords.
They're all so careful to match my pace exactly, with the same diffidence I've seen throughout this voyage
around the domain. They bow and simper and answer all my questions, barely asking any of their own.
This is obviously how they treated Chazen Saril. But Saril's dead and gone. These people must learn how
different a ruler I am.
Kheda headed for a temporary pavilion set up among the palm huts. Polished berale wood supported
azure cotton embroidered with fan-shaped midar leaves shading a bank of plump indigo cushions.
Hopeful maidens in simple silk dresses of yellow and white that flattered the warm bronze of their bare
arms and faces stood holding beaten brass plates laden with dainties. Idling uncon-vincingly among the
crude huts, men and women clad in sober unbleached cotton eyed the spectacle.
'Please, join me.' Kheda swept a hand around to include all the spokesmen in his invitation.
Dev was already moving to take a tray of goblets from a girl who had found time to weave crimson
striol-vine flowers into her glossy black curls. He surprised her into a giggle with a mischievous wink
before offering the salver deftly to Kheda, eyes dutifully downcast.
'Admire if you want but lay a finger on any of them -' Kheda raised the goblet to hide his lips '- and I'll
cut it off.'
'Naturally, my lord.' Dev's answering murmur dripped with sarcasm.
Kheda sipped velvety sard-berry juice, its richness quenching his thirst as the heady scent cleansed the
lurking memory of the rotting oysters.
'My lord Chazen Kheda.' Another of the islanders' spokesmen addressed him, stumbling over his words.
Kheda searched his memory for the stained yellow talisman the man wore on a leather thong: a tooth
from some piebald whale either taken by a valiant ancestor or washed up on these shores as a sign to
bemuse anyone other than a seer or a warlord. 'Isei, isn't it?'
Tell me, why is your fist so tight around the stem of that goblet that your knuckles are white?
'You come dressed for war, my lord.' Isei cleared his throat. 'I was wondering how the western isles
fare. Are the invaders finally defeated?'
Some of the other spokesmen edged away to dissociate themselves from such boldness and a few closed
their eyes, helplessly struggling to hide their expressions of pain.
Do you think I would disapprove of such a question? That I don't have my own unwelcome memories of
the destruction that swept across your islands not even a year ago?
'I was taught to always travel armoured.' Kheda shrugged.
Taught by my father, Daish Reik, warlord of the stronger, richer Daish domain to your north, a man to be
treated with all due respect lest he make your lives intolerable by closing the seaways to you. Who would
ever have foreseen that his son would become your warlord? Not Daish Reik. Not me, that's for sure,
when I was Daish Kheda. Not Chazen Saril. But then none of us foresaw the invasion of Chazen by
brutal savages from some unknown land beyond the southern horizon.
He looked slowly around the circle of intent faces. 'As for the invaders, we wrought your vengeance with
the death of nearly all of them in that first sustained assault, with Daish lending their swordsmen and ships
and warriors from Ritsem and Redigal domains coming to our aid as well. The last sorry remnant
disappeared into the thickets of our most remote southern and western islets. We continue to hunt them
down, making sure we have cleared each island entirely before we move on to the next.
But we are being cautious, yes. I don't intend to spend a single Chazen life for the sake of a hundred
savages, not if I can help it.'
Kheda paused and drank from his goblet, noting one of the spokesmen pressing the back of a
burn-scarred hand to his tight-shut eyes.
He hardened his voice. 'Their savage wizards are all dead, so they cannot visit the foul evils of their magic
on us ever again. They have no ships, so they cannot escape. Our triremes keep vigil along the seaways
and crush any of their log boats trying to put to sea. Few of the islands they hold have water year round.
They'll be as thirsty as these reefs before much longer into the dry season.'