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

аа "Are you ready, Creslin?" The voice comes from beyond the door.
аа "Yes, your grace. As soon as I retrieve my blade."
аа "Creslin-"
аа "Galen, would not any eastern male wear a blade?"
аа There is no response, and a faint smile crosses Creslin's lips as he
buckles the soft leather of the formal sword-belt into place. The blade,
the short sword of the guards of Westwind, remains securely sheathed
therein.
аа Creslin steps through the connecting door. The guard follows him with
her eyes, but he ignores her as he joins his mother the Marshall.
аа They walk out through the carved doorway of the guest-wing entrance.
Creslin moves to the Marshall's left, a half-pace back, knowing that is
as far as he can push.
аа "Creslin," begins the Marshall in the hard-edged soft voice that is
not meant to carry, "do you understand your role here?"
аа "Yes, your grace. I am to be charming and receptive and not to
volunteer anything but trivia. I may sing, if the occasion arises, but
only a single song, and an ... inoffensive one. I am not to touch steel
unless I am in mortal danger, which is rather unlikely. And I am not to
comment upon the negotiations. "
аа "You did listen." Her voice is wry.
аа "I always listen, your grace."
аа "I know. You just don't always obey."
аа "I am a dutiful son and consort."
аа "See that it stays that way."
аа During their exchange of words, their steps have carried them down the
hall and into a wider hallway leading to the dining room of the Tyrant's
palace. A herald, scarcely more than a boy, has appeared to escort them
into the Tyrant's presence.
аа As they turn into an even broader corridor, wide-glassed windows on
the left show a garden with a hedge of short, green-leaved bushes cut
into a maze centering on a pond with a central fountain. From around the
fountain's statue-an unclothed man well-endowed in all parts-shoot jets
of water that arch upward before cascading into the pond.
аа The wall to the right of the two from Westwind is of pale pink
granite, smoothed and polished. Gold-fringed tapestries depicting life in
ancient Sarronnyn hang against the stone, a space perhaps equal to three
paces between each scene.
аа Creslin, having studied the hangings earlier in the afternoon, ignores
them, instead fixing his eyes on the doorway ahead, where a pair of armed
women guard the entrance to the dining room.
аа The Marshall waits as the herald steps into me hall. Creslin waits
with her, still a half-pace back.
аа "The Marshall of Westwind!" announces the young herald. "Accompanied
by the consort-assign."
аа The Marshall nods and they step inside, following the herald toward
the long table upon the dais.
аа "... handsome lad."
аа ". . .a blade yet ... but can he use it?"
аа "... like to see his work with the other blade."