"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 03 - The Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

him more and more often, as if there was some secret frustration
eating at the taproot of his soul. If only I could convince Avritha
to bear a child off someone else for the sterile little bastard.

The half-Zak merchant prince cleared his throat. "To which
court am I summoned, sir Guard?" he asked politely.

"Court, sir Merchant?" the guard said, turning and
examining the fingers of his metal gauntlets. He closed the hand,
the movement rippling like water across the cunningly jointed
plates; F'talezonian metalwork was unmatched anywhere. "The
mindspeaker at the Nest has a message; the DragonLord bids
you there, to go about your business." He smiled, a patient,
understanding expression. "It is a rare honor for one outside the
Nest or the noble Houses to use the mindspeaker's talents, sir
Merchant, ah, no, my small error, ClawPrince." The Claw was
the F'talezonian unit of currency, but the ancient houses
preferred to take their share from rents, property, land, rather
than active commerce.

Koru, Habiku swore in a relief that was half rage. His own
return bow was a masterpiece of understated courtesy. The
DragonLord hasn't bothered to ask about the messages in iron
cycles, not since the spring.

THE ABBEY OF SAEKRBERK BRAHVNIKI, EASTERN
SHORE
TENTH IRON CYCLE, FOURTH DAY

"Zar Benaiat," Megan said, with the shadow of a bow.
 The breezeway flanked one wall of a courtyard garden, near
the heart of the Benai. Warmth radiated from the bluish-gray
stone walls, keeping greenness here after the outer fields had
turned sear with frost. Fraosra moved between the long beds in
red robes, readying them for winter.

"Captain. Megan, Honey-Giver be thanked that the rumors of
your death were false," the Benaiat replied; his tone was
businesslike and brisk, but the look he bent on Megan was
warm. The light-brown eyes that perched over his beaked nose
were shrewd; Shkai'ra was reminded of the curious gaze of a
raven or fox. He was not a tall man, midway between the two
women in height, very thin but not cadaverously so.

He dropped the trowel he carried into the basket of the Vra
attending him, a dry rustle from the papery bulbs dug for the
winter rising, and accepted a cloth to wipe his earthstained
hands. Then he dropped some of his formality and reached out
his hand to Megan.