"04 - The Chaos Balance.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"The .. . storms .. ." stammered Themphi. "You were-"
"They destroyed those as well as the locks of Kuliat? Why was I not informed of that?"
"Your Mightiness received the scrolls in the field . . ." Themphi offered a stained scroll. ". . . as you did this one at Guarstyad-"
"I am supposed to remember details of waterworks when I am trying to rebuild the fireships? Or commanding an army? Or remember that I received a scroll in the midst of dark confusions?" Lephi's eyes flickered toward the two sets of ornate open grillwork that flanked the dais and concealed the Archers of the Rational Stars. Then he leaned forward in the malachite and silver chair, his silver linens rustling. "Themphi, my wizard of the Throne of Reason, Emperor and heir to the Rational/Stars I may be, but even emperors do not recall everything-especially in these times." He paused. "Why do the eastern barbarian kingdoms no longer respect Cyador?"
"Sire?"
"You are thinking of rice fields, Themphi. We will address those in a moment. Why is mighty Cyad no longer respected?"
"Cyador remains mighty."
"Yet barbarian traders attempted to establish a fortified enclave at Guarstyad, miserable corner of the word that it is. Why?"
"It is on the borders of Cyador, and there are no Mirror Lancers or Shining Foot there."
"In my grandsire's days, they would not have dared. Why do they dare now?"
The wizard frowned ever so slightly. "You routed them, Sire. They will not try again."
"Had we the great fire cannons or were the fireship completed, they would not have dared." Lephi leaned back in the shimmering throne. "The barbarians have short memories and respect little save force. We must restore our abilities to supply that force."
"Yes, Sire."
"You humor me, Themphi. You think I am erratic and obsessed. Perhaps I am. An emperor must be obsessed. How else can he guide his people?"
The wizard nodded.
"Answer me! How else?"
"Any ruler must guide his people."
"You talk, and you say nothing. Would that I did not need you and your kind. Would that. . . but wishes are but fluttering breezes dashed against stone." Lephi sighed. "Now . . . you may proceed with the rice fields."
"I should have seen that you were informed once you returned, Your Mightiness," offered Themphi.
"Someone should have. Someone should have." Lephi eased back in his throne. "Can we send the White Engineers?"
"The Second is at hand . . ." offered the wizard.
"No ... the fireship project comes first. I will not let those thieves from Ruzor or Lydiar or Spidlar . . ." Lephi let his words break off.
"The Third Company could go. You sent the first to Fyrad-"
"To rebuild the trading piers and the levees. I recall. With the Second engaged here . . . Yes, send the Third." Lephi paused. "And send one of the Mirror Legions. Whichever one Queras can spare most."
"Yes, Your Mightiness." Themphi bowed as if to depart.
"Have we heard from the northern barbarians?"
"About the reopening of the copper mines?"
"Exactly."
"No, Sire. The messenger could not have reached Lornth yet, even upon the fastest of Your Mightiness's steeds."
Perspiration beaded on the white wizard's forehead as Lephi's eyes narrowed.
"Are you suggesting, white wizard, that I am impatient?" asked the Lord of Cyador.
"No, Sire. Only that Lornth is far beyond the Walls of the North."
"Those walls will move northward again. We will need the copper for the fireships to come." Lephi smiled. "Inform me when we receive word from Lornth. In the meantime, best you study the old tomes on the diversions, Themphi. And on containing chaos within ship boilers."
"Yes, Mightiness." The white mage's voice was even.


V

NYLAN STEPPED FROM the smithy, even before Blynnal rang the chimes for the midday meal, squinting as the snow-reflected glare cascaded around him.
"Frigging bright," mumbled Huldran as she stumbled out into the light after the smith.
"Sun and snow." The smith nodded and began to walk downhill. Despite the comparative warmth and the disappearance of the snow and ice cover from the south side of the rocky cairns and some sections' around the canyon mouths, he hadn't seen any signs of snow lilies. Did that mean they'd have more spring snows? Or had the guards done something in their cultivation to kill off the lilies?
Nylan didn't know. There was so much that they had yet to learn about this world. The similarities to Heaven-type worlds helped, but there were certainly differences, like the semideciduous trees that looked H-norm, but had green leaves that turned gray and curled up around the branchlets that held them. Only about half the leaves fell every year.
And the reference to Cyador had surprised Nylan. Ryba had intimated that the place was almost a throwback to the white demons of Rationalism, but again, in almost two years no traders or locals had mentioned Cyador. He'd never even heard the name before, and that kind of surprise bothered him. Had Ryba gotten another vision? He had begun to wish long before that her visions were not so devastatingly accurate.
"Did you ever hear the name Cyador?" he asked Huldran.
"Before the Marshal mentioned it the other day? No. Maybe the healer had, but no one else had, either, except for Ydrall, but she came from coins."
"What did Ydrall know?"
"Not much more than Daryn, except that they don't let traders in and that they keep their women locked up. They have trading stations at the borders-or they used to. Lornth had problems with Cyador years ago, and there hasn't been much trading since. Ydrall didn't know what kind of problems, though."
A culture even harder on women than Lornth and those of the lands bordering Westwind? He shook his head, then rubbed his chin. He really needed a shave. He didn't care for the local bearded look at all, but shaving with a blade, a real dagger-edge blade, had taken some learning, and not a few cuts along the way. Of course, some of the local recruits had wondered if he was actually a. man, since he didn't have a beard-as if hair made the man. He snorted.
As they reached the outer end of the causeway to the tower, Blynnal appeared and used the wooden mallet to hammer out a rough melody on the chimes that had replaced the old triangle. She wore a burlaplike apron over her gray trousers and tunic, and a jacket thrown over everything. The brunette smiled shyly at Nylan. "I do not have the touch of the healer, not with the songs, but I try."
"You have the touch with the food," the smith-engineer responded. "And we're all very thankful for that."