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

The coaster Liquid Radiance heeled in the wind. Shkai'ra looked up from
relacing the shoulder-plate of her armor in annoyance.

It was two hours past noon, and the wind was at their backs from the east;
with the tide working for them they should reach Illizbuah before sunset,
tomorrow if the Captain decided to salvage more storm flotsam. The flat
Fehinnan coast was already a low blue line against the horizon in the west.
The dozen crew and four-what the captain euphemistically called
"rescued"-castaways all turned longing glances toward shore.

At least I'm alive, Shkai'ra thought resignedly. That had been a question of
some uncertainty, back half a week ago when the Radiance had picked her and
the Fehinnans up off the beach, on receipt of signed scrip acknowledging the
debt of passage money, as an act of well-paid benevolence to fellow Fehinnans.

Fellow Fehinnans or residents, Shkai'ra thought, wiping sweat from her face.
She envied the sailors, clad in light tunics or stripped to their
breechclouts. Half an hour of this sun would turn her into a baked lobster if
she so much as took off her shirt.

The lookout at the mast called something in sailor's argot, lowering his
binoculars and pointing. Shkai'ra rose to her feet and walked to the rail;
behind her, Ten-Knife-Foot curled on top of her duffle. When the merchantman
had beaten herself to pieces on the sand, the torn had clung to her shoulders,
yowling at the water all the way as Shkai'ra had floundered and waded ashore;
a small miracle, like others in the years since they met. Perhaps there had
been the will of a spirit in that; she made the warding gesture to the gods
with her sword-hand.

She knew no loose fingers would touch her things if they wanted to stay
attached. Ten-Knife-Foot guarded everything he considered his very well. She
shaded her eyes with a hand and peered ahead past the smooth ripple of the
Radiance's cutwater. The cat probably considered her among his possessions.
All she could see was the glittering flat surface of the water, riffled by the
steady onshore wind, and a few high clouds, land just visible on the horizon.

"What is it?" she asked the sailor next to her as he squinted at the waves. He
was a typical low-country Fehinnan, short and mahogany-brown with
close-cropped wiry black hair; he glanced doubtfully up at her long-limbed
height, as if surprised someone with red-blond braids could speak the language
of civilization. Tall fair folk were rare in Fehinna, although not unknown
north of the Cayspec or west in the mountains, and most such tribes were
savages.

"Wreck," he said shortly. "No wonder a't, wh'it storm blew itself out." The
hurricane had torn itself into mere storms against the coast, and the Radiance
had ridden out the worst of it fairly handily in the lee of the offshore
islands.

Shkai'ra nodded, then drew up her binoculars. The sea leaped close, wavering