"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 05 - Shadow's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

The Benai Saekrberk always made Megan feel calmer. Nobody ran or shouted or pushed her
against the wall; the Fraousra, the monks, all looked as if they had something to do that made them, if
not happy, at least at peace. There were more guard-monks down by the dock, though, five new galleys
in the slipways, and she and ShkaiтАЩra got an armed escort up to the hill. The Fraousra pruning the vines
on the slopes stopped and waved; when they passed close, Megan heard them saying her name to each
other, and pulled the floppy hat further down over her ears. The wind was from inland, full of marsh and
plowed earth smells from the fields on the other side of the Benaiat, and a little salt from the Svartzee.
IvahnтАЩs secretary, Stevahn, white-haired but young, and her attendants came out to meet them at the
gate. Their robes were crimson against the blue walls of the abbey, with the white domes above. A small
image of the Divine Bear hung at StevahnтАЩs waist, clicking against the writing case next to it on her belt.
тАЬThe Benaiat will meet you in the center court. HeтАЩs a little tired.тАЭ Her voice was low, as if the words
were meant only for Megan.
They walked through the arcades to the courtyard gardens, simple stone and tile and fresh flowers;
spring was well along here. Traveling south down the river was like leaving winter, cold and dark, to sail
into summer; last time they had been here it had been fall, and theyтАЩd sailed into winter. ShkaiтАЩraтАЩs eyes
appraised all. Still looking at everything as if she were about to sack and burn it, Megan thought. IтАЩll
train her out of that yet.
Benaiat Ivahn was leaning on the edge of one of the lesser pools; looking up, he rose to meet them,
smiling. StevahnтАЩs right, Megan thought. He is looking tired. Nonsense, heтАЩs looking the same as
ever, three years older than the Goddess. Like a child when he smiles, except all wrinkles. The
other monks withdrew.
тАЬMegan Whitlock,тАЭ the old man said, clasping her hands, then ShkaiтАЩraтАЩs. тАЬIt was a grief to me that I
could not attend your wedding. Your other wife and your husband are not with you on this journey?тАЭ
They strolled along the colonnade, the pair matching their pace to the old manтАЩs. He moved as smoothly
as he ever did, but more slowly.
тАЬNo,тАЭ she answered. тАЬBut we drank some of that case of Saekrberk liqueur you sent. In the glass
loving-cups.тАЭ
тАЬThey were beautiful,тАЭ ShkaiтАЩra said. тАЬThey reminded me of this place.тАЭ Three years, weтАЩve been
together, Megan thought, and she still surprises me.
No doubt Ivahn was surprised, too; but heтАЩd had a great deal of practice in hiding what he thought.
They came to the door of his office, ancient oak, almost black, hinges silent as it swung open. Benaiats
from time out of mind had used this office. Strange to think of anyone but Ivahn being Benaiat; he
has been since long before I was born. He was three times MeganтАЩs age. Seventy-five. What will I be
like at that age? Stupid question. If I keep using the manrauq as much as I have lately, I wonтАЩt die
old. ShkaiтАЩra isnтАЩt likely to die old either, unless we really do settle down after this.
The office was in the outer part of the Benaiat; the view extended down to the docks and across the
river to Brahvniki, back toward the woods and fields as well. The room was very plain, but not stark.
Some monasteries of the Honey-Giving Bear seemed to worship austerity, but Ivahn had always said its
purpose was to free one of distractions, not be held sacred for its own sake. He had bookshelves and
desk and chairs, a row of large books on pegs; the symbol on the wall was his own handiwork, the
colors still bright against whitewash. A warm breeze blew off the sea and in through the narrow windows.
This summer is going to be very hot, droughts in some places.
As Megan and Ivahn gave each other the formal hug, she felt it: he was paper-thin, skin over ribs like
tent-canvas, his grip more like a spiderтАЩs than a bearтАЩs. He settled into his chair by the desk, sighing,
motioned them to sit. His face had always been thin like a foxтАЩs; now the fox was a starving one,
hollow-cheeked. Was he ill? But he smiled again, making it all seem imaginary.
A monk brought a tray with a bottle of Saekrberk and glasses, setting them out on the desk with a
bow. тАЬKorukai,тАЭ Ivahn said, lifting his tiny glass. тАЬTo your health,тАЭ Megan said, hearing more meaning in
it than sheтАЩd intended. He nodded, and the Saekrberk burned its way across her tongue.