"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 02 - Saber and Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

A harsh scream broke the silence and the sound of dripping waters. It came
from the next room-a long despairing wail of agony and terror.

CHAPTER III

Yeva Haacha's-kin, a master of the Guild of the Wise, sat before a silver bowl
in a garden that whispered and rustled as rain pattered down, on vine and leaf
and carved stone pergola. The rain somehow avoided the space where she sat.
Long black hair fell in a curtain as she leaned forward over the bowl and
passed a hand over the water; eyes the color of milk From corner to corner
gazed into it.

With a chime the metal chilled suddenly as the water froze; frost-fog tumbling
over the smooth edge, drifting down over embossed figures thick with hoar, to
puddle and dissipate in the rain outside the circle of protection.

Thunder cracked overhead. The figures rising out of the ice wavered for a
moment, then firmed as her concentration took hold. The symbol was the thing;
she reached to hold firm the sympathetic linkage between the here and the
there. Ah, General-Commander Smyna, and the High Priest-unmistakable. Their
voices rang insect-thin from the images of frost, speaking of war; dates,
places, strategies. Yeva's lips thinned. Smooth conversation in a quiet room;
the lives and homes of others wrecked by papers dropped across a table.

She touched the bowl with a finger, and the metal glowed white for an instant:
time present. Then another image rose unbidden, flickering. She concentrated
to firm it, for the unasked Sight was always valuable. A woman-no, two
women-sat at a low table, a candle between them. Red hair inclining toward
dark, a finger tracing on the table. A gust of ... not-wind, and the scene
vanished. She touched her finger again to the bowl, and this time the glow was
reef: time past. Earlier this evening.

The blind woman raised her eyes to the garden and thought for long minutes.
The unsought omen is always to be heeded. No vision of the future was
complete, for the future was not one path but many. Every living soul helped
shape it, with every decision they made. Here were two more to play the game,
two who had become crucial.

Faces called up in answer to her question. How were they to deal with
Illizbuah? She smiled suddenly and gestured. The cold-formed fog billowed up,
obscuring her from sight. Lightning flashed, reflecting a million shining
droplets of frozen air as the rain fell freely everywhere. It puddled in the
bowl, with the melting ice.

Cubilano, Reflection of the Everlasting Light, High Priest of the Sun in
Illizbuah, Chancellor of Fehinna's God-King, sat in the silence he preferred.
Such undiscipline, he thought, noting a slight movement of an acolyte's eyes.
He made an almost imperceptible sign with one finger, and the acolyte moved
forward, covered his eyes with his hands, and bowed deeply.