"Modesitt,.L.E.-.Spellsong.05.-.Shadow.Singer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

Secca turned in the saddle.

Wilten stood by the stable door. Beside him was the SouthWoman captain Delcetta. The strawberry blonde woman had an apologetic smile on her face. "We have taken the liberty of having a squad of lancers from Loiseau and one from the SouthWomen to escort you. They are drawn up and awaiting you. Also, your chief archer Elfens has requested to accompany you with several of his best archers."

"The Ladies of the Shadows have not been released from the White Tower, have they?" asked Alcaren.

"No, ser. But we do not know all who may follow them," replied Delcetta.

Wilten nodded, and added, "It is best that none think you unguarded."

Would she seem more formidable guarded or unguarded? Secca wondered.

As she and Alcaren rode out of the courtyard, the lancers eased their mounts into position, leaving the two of them between the crimson-trimmed, dark blue riding jackets of the SouthWomen and the green of Loiseсu. The measured clopping of hoofs echoed through the damp morning as the column headed between the neatly trimmed boxwood hedges that flanked the lane leading to the main avenue.

Secca glanced forward at the SouthWomen lancers leading the way, then at Elfens, riding behind the vanguard.

The tall archer seemed to feel Secca's glance and twisted in the saddle, grinning as he offered an angled half bow.

Secca grinned and shook her head. After a moment, she turned in the saddle to take in the column behind them. "I feel almost like a prisoner."

"You are," Alcaren said with a laugh. "You're a prisoner of your own power. None of us can afford to lose you."

"Even you?"

"Me . . . most of all."

Once out of the lane, they turned their mounts northward, in the direction of the Matriarch's small palace. The misting rain stopped completely, but wisps of fog rose from the gray stones of the avenue, twisting into vague shapes in the seemingly more frequent bursts of cold air that had begun to chill the warmer damp air.

"What is your . . . your parents' dwelling like?" Secca asked after a silence.

Astride the brown gelding that was almost the size of a raider beast, and far larger than Secca's gray mare, Alcaren shrugged. "It is a dwelling with two small wings and a stable that will hold four mounts, perhaps five if we double stall in the front corner. We have no carriage. There is a small formal flower garden off the portico and a much larger vegetable garden. Father has his studio in a small outbuilding. It is all very modest."

"Do you still have a chamber there?"

"I suppose so. I have left nothing there, but Father calls it my room."

They continued riding past the Matriarch's palace and then turned onto another avenue that led uphill and to the northeast. Secca noted that some of the dwellings flanking the avenue were nearly as large as the Matriarch's. None was small. "Is their dwelling on this side of the hill?"

Alcaren laughed. "I fear not. It is smaller and more to the south on the lesser hill."

Secca nodded, but as they rode to the top of the hill and then followed a narrower way to the right and down onto a lower hill, the houses and grounds did not get much smaller. When they rode up into a stone-paved circular drive, Secca was scarcely surprised that the dwelling was more than the simple house Alcaren had suggested.

"Here we are," announced her consort-to-be, gesturing toward the small villa with two wings branching from the circular and columned rotunda that dominated the stone-paved lane leading to the covered entry and the mounting blocks.

Alcaren reined up in front of the mounting blocks, leaving them to Secca. While she appreciated his courtesy as she dismounted, once more she felt almost patronized because of her small stature.

"Alcaren!" The young woman who hurried out through the columned archway was indeed small and wiry, perhaps even shorter than Secca herself, and more boyish in appearance. She glanced up at Secca and flashed the same warm smile that Secca had seen from Alcaren. "Lady Secca . . ." Then she laughed, warmly and openly. "Welcome . . . welcome."

Secca tried to halt the inadvertently quizzical look that she could feel appearing on her face.