"Juliet E. McKenna - Einarinn 1 - The Thief's Gamble" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKenna Juliet E)

held out his glass for a refill and laughed fruitily at his own quip.
'I think those days were already long past when I first came here, Kalion.'
Otrick poured him a full measure and then topped up his own drink, his
steady hand belying the wrinkles carved in his face and the white hairs now
outnumbering the grey in his steely hair and beard.
'How long ago was that, Cloud-Master?' the youngest man present asked,
taking the bottle with a creditable attempt at ease, given the exalted company
he found himself keeping.
Otrick's close-lipped smile was as about as revealing as a masquerader's
guise. 'Longer ago than I care to remember, Usara,' he replied softly, raising
his glass. His vivid blue eyes glinted under his angular brows.
 'Anyway, Archmage, what was it you wanted to discuss?' Kalion
half-turned on the deeply upholstered settle to address the neatly built man
who was shuttering the tall windows and drawing the thick green curtains
precisely together.
'Oh, it's nothing vital, Hearth-Master. You were in Relshaz for Solstice,
weren't you? I was wondering if the antiquarians there have turned up
anything interesting lately?' Planir lit a couple of oil-lamps and their yellow
glow warmed the deep oak panelling around the room, a few gleams here
and there revealing choice pieces of statuary in discreet niches. The soft
light blurred the network of fine lines around the Archmage's eyes and made
him look barely a handful of years older than Usara. He set a lamp down on
the table.
'Do we want a fire, do you think?'
'I should think so,' Otrick said emphatically.
Kalion looked a little askance at the skinny old wizard, dressed neatly if
unfashionably in grey wool broadcloth. He contented himself with
loosening the neck of his own maroon velvet gown, new from the tailor in
the latest style and shade and richly embroidered with a border of flames.
'You see, Usara thinks he may have turned up something new but,
equally, it may just be a waste of everyone's time.' The Archmage snapped
his fingers on a flash of red and dropped a flame into the fire laid ready in
the spotless grate. He drew in the silken skirts of his own black robe and
seated himself in a high-backed chair, warming his glass in his long-fingered
hands as he leant back against the rich sage brocade. 'Sweetcake? Do help
yourselves, everyone.'
'What exactly is it you're studying, Usara? Remind me,' Kalion asked the
youthful wizard indistinctly round a mouthful of fruit-and-honeycake.
Usara's thin face flushed brightly, the colour clashing with his sandy hair
and somewhat cruelly highlighting just how thin it was becoming above his
high forehead. 'I've been working on the decline and fall of the Tormalin
Empire for some seasons now, Hearth-Master. I met some scholars from the
University of Vanam last year when they came to use the library at the
Seaward Hall and they invited me to use their archives.'
Kalion shrugged with evident disinterest, the gesture creasing his chins
unappealingly as he reached for more wine. 'So?'
Usara smoothed the linen ruffles at his neck, glancing fleetingly at Planir,
who smiled reassuringly over the rim of his glass and inclined his sleek,
dark head slightly. 'Go on,' the Archmage encouraged him. 'Well, when
Sannin was there over the Winter Solstice, she went to a celebration where