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

the Warmasters' instruction and laid the saber on a table before walking to
the bed. The outlander, Megan, ground her teeth and wrestled with the
sweat-soaked sheets. Shkai'ra stood, watching, contemplating her own emotions
with detached curiosity.

She did not feel pity; her folk lacked even the concept. Concern, perhaps. On
the Plains of Night, even the fiercest was driven prey, and she had night
terrors enough of her own. What connection? The stranger was interesting,
true. And attractive, but no more so than many men and women she met daily.

She sat on the bed and laid a cool strong hand on the other's shoulder. "Wake,
Whitlock," she said in a calm conversational tone. "That fight is past."

Under her hand, Megan froze to utter stillness. With a shudder her body
relaxed into wakefulness, and her hand went out to trace an ungloved hand,
raised to touch the smooth line of Shkai'ra's cheek.

"Not him," she murmured, still in the dream's grip. She sat up. Unwelcome sobs
forced themselves past clenched teeth. She had sworn that she would not weep
again; shame added to her misery as she turned her face away.

"Sorry to break down your door," Shkai'ra said calmly. "Thought someone was
chopping you up with an axe." A pause. "I always hated thunderstorms, too."

Megan stilled as she woke more fully. "Thank you, for, well, being concerned.
But I'm all right." She tried to pull her barriers up, but they were still
shattered by the dream. She felt the rasp of Shkai'ra's calluses. She sat up,
slowly, feeling suddenly lonely as the Kommanza took her hand away.

The plainswoman was so close . . . "This binds ..." Her voice also refused to
work properly, and it came out so low that she doubted Shkai'ra heard it.
Something she'd walled away inside herself long ago finally broke free, and
she cried; harsh and tearing, for she fought it still, but the tears still
came.

"I felt him die ... I felt his life go, leaking out of every wound, but I live
that time again, when thunder walks. Why?" Then rage welled up in her through
grief and she crooked a hand in a slash across the bedding. "I could kill him
again. And still feel pleasure in it."

Her tears were gradually slowing and her breathing becoming more regular. "So
long. So long ago."

"They never leave us, those we've killed; we give them immortality," Shkai'ra
said. "I'm not far," she went on, standing and taking up her sword. "Call if
there's need." The broken door swung quietly shut behind her.

"Why?"

Shkai'ra paced like a trapped cat, her bare feet soundless on the brown tile