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

Kestrin sighs. "Perhaps to Nordwei."

"It is yet winter there."

"And you question that I should send lancers into Neserea?"

"I cannot see how you could do otherwise--- when you can. They cannot cross the snows of the Mittpass yet." Bassil shakes his head. "If you do not dispatch them, once the snows melt, Belmar will take all of Neserea by midsummer. But . . . if he is as bright as he seems, he will turn to face your lancers, in order to destroy them."

"They must not face him. Their task is to destroy those who rebelled against Aerlya." Kestrin's voice is hard. "If he turns, then the Sorceress of Defalk may be able to strengthen Aerlya's hold on the north and east"

"That is possible," Bassil concedes, his voice, neutral.

"Not likely, but possible," Kestrin replies with a grim laugh. "Better that than we do nothing. The lady Secca may yet retake Dumar from the Sturinnese, but this Belmar is their tool, and even she will be hard-pressed if Neserea falls and the Sturinnese reinforcements land in Narial."

"Because she will be caught between him and the Sturinnese?"

The Liedfubr nods slowly. "Because we will then face the Sea-Priests alone."

Outside the study, in the growing darkness, the moaning of the returning winter wind rises with the night.


2

The late-morning sunlight poured over the two-story structure that held the Matriarch's guest quarters, but the wide second-story windows that faced west were still in shadow. The air in the main chamber was hot and still, foreshadowing summer in Encora, although by the turn of the seasons, spring had even yet to arrive.

Rather than using the small working desk that faced away from the leftmost of the three windows, Secca had seated herself at the circular golden oak conference table, her back to the windows. Alcaren sat on the opposite side of the table, leaving four chairs vacant. The tiled hearth on the south wall held several logs set on a pair of heavy iron andirons, but it had been weeks since Secca had needed a fire.

The petite and redheaded sorceress looked at the rose that lay on top of the papers before her on the conference table--a perfect white rose, appearing so delicate that the slightest breeze would rip off the petals. But like so much in Liedwahr, the rose was not what it seemed, for the petals were of white bronze and the stem of a greenish iron--- and it had been Alcaren's love gift to her, one she had never expected.

Her amber eyes went from the rose to Alcaren--- narrowwaisted and broad-shouldered, almost too short for his breadth to be handsome, yet not stocky, with short-cut brown hair and gray-blue eyes. He wore the pale blue Ranuan uniform and the collar insignia of an overcaptain. As he felt Secca's eyes upon him, he looked up from the map he had been studying and smiled warmly.

In spite of herself, Secca flushed.

"I do the same thing," he said with a slight laugh, adding, "when you look at me."

She shook her head. "It is hard to get used to."

"I know. No one ever looked at me that way?"

Secca wondered about that, and yet, she didn't. Alcaren was barely a head taller than she was, and he was striking, but not necessarily handsome. He was a largely untrained sorcerer in a land that feared sorcery, and a strong man in a land ruled by women. "We still need a consorting ceremony," she said slowly.

"You sound dubious, my lady. Am I that much of a burden to bear?"

At the mock-woeful tone of his voice and the twinkle in his eyes, Secca laughed. "You are no burden. Far from that! Still, it is strange."

Alcaren waited, his smile encouraging her to speak.

"It is strange, and it is not. After these years, I had not thought to find love."