"Saga of Recluce 02 - Towers of the Shield" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

аа "Perhaps you should consider a trip to Hydolar, or even to Fairhaven."
аа "Perhaps I should, if that is your wish." His eyes darken as he looks
toward the boy.
аа In turn, the silver-haired toddler hanging on to the stone arm of the
chair bearing the green cushion glances from the silver-haired guitarist
to the black-haired woman, and back again.
аа "Play another song of summer," she orders.
аа "As you wish."
аа As the notes cascade from the strings of the guitar, an unseen fire
lifts the chill from the stone walls of the room, and even the
guitarist's breath no longer smokes in the dim afternoon of the
Westhorns' endless winter.
аа The toddler sees the notes as they climb from the strings into the
air, lets go of the stone support and clutches at a single fragment as it
passes beyond his grasp.
аа Neither the woman nor the guitarist remark upon his sudden drop to the
gray granite beside the chair he has released. Nor do they notice the
glimmer of gold he clutches within his pink fingers and how he turns to
seek the light it bears.
аа Nor do they see the wetness in his eyes when the gold dissipates from
within his grasp even as he watches.
аа His jaw set, the chubby-legged child struggles upright until he stands
next to the chair that is his, his hands reaching out once more toward
the order behind the sounds he sees and hears.
аа But the song of summer has come to an end, with tears unshed in the
eyes of the guitarist.
аа Beyond the gray granite walls, the wind howls and . . . again . . .
the snow falls.
а
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IV
а
"I HAVE TO wear this?" Against the warm light that floods from the open
double-casement window through the thin, close-woven silksheen of the
flimsy dark trousers, the young man can see the outline of the man who
stands holding the garment at the foot of the bed. "Galen, you can't be
serious."
аа The older, round-faced man shrugs helplessly. "The Marshall ordered .
. ."
аа The youngster takes the trousers and tosses them onto the bed next to
an equally thin white silksheen shirt. His image- that of a slight,
silver-haired youth in a light-gray flannel shirt and green leather vest
and trousers-is framed in the full-length, gilt-edged mirror that hangs
against the blond wood paneling. His eyes are a steady gray-green. The
silver hair and fine features overshadow the wiry muscles beneath the
flannel and the weapons calluses upon the strong, squarish hands.
аа "Why did she even bother to bring me? I'm no consort to be paraded
around."
аа Galen straightens out the clothes so they lie neatly upon the
green-and-white-brocaded bedcover. "The Marshall thought that you should