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

аа "... too feminine. Looks like he trained as a guard."
аа Creslin purses his lips, trying not to hear the whispered comments of
the court as he trails the herald and the Marshall. Some of the comments
are all too familiar. Two places are vacant at the high table: one next
to the Tyrant and one at the end, between two women.
аа "Your grace . . ."A serving boy pulls out a chair for Creslin.
аа Creslin nods to the graying woman at his right, then to the girl at
his left. The girl's unruly and shoulder-length mahogany curls flow from
a silver hair band, and she is the only woman at the table with long hair.
аа "Your grace," begins the older woman.
аа With regret, because he understands the seating, Creslin turns to her.
"Yes?" His voice is nearly musical, much as he rues it at times such as
these.
аа "What might we call you?"
аа "Creslin, but no names are really necessary among friends." His
stomach turns at the lie, and he wonders if he will ever be able to twist
the truth, as he has been taught, without paying his own personal price.
His eyes flicker to the center of the table, where the man to the left of
the Tyrant has raised his knife.
аа The others turn to the sectioned pearapples on the yellow china plates
before them, and Creslin lifts his knife to pare the sections into even
smaller slices.
аа "Do all men in Westwind wear blades?" asks the older woman.
аа "Your grace," he defers, "Westwind is upon the Roof of the World, and
all those who leave her walls must beware of the elements and the beasts
that brave them. The Marshall would leave no soul unprotected, but was
generous enough to grant my request to be able to protect myself."
аа "You appear rather . . . athletic."
аа Creslin smiles, and his stomach turns yet again. "Appearances may be
deceiving, your grace."
аа "You may call me Frewya." Her smile is only slightly less overpowering
than her breath. "Would you tell us about Westwind?"
аа Creslin nods but first finishes a small section of pearapple and wipes
his lips with the linen napkin before speaking. "I doubt that I am the
most-qualified individual to describe Westwind, but I will do my best."
He turns to the red-haired girl. "I would not exclude you, your grace-"
аа "If you would tell us about Westwind ..." Her voice contains a hint of
laughter as she pauses in raising her goblet. She wears a heavy, dull,
iron bracelet, almost as wide as a wrist gauntlet and set with a single
black stone.
аа Creslin senses that the bracelet is not exactly what it seems to be
before he quickly returns his glance to her face. Her hidden laughter has
pleased him, and he bestows a smile upon her before turning back to
Frewya.
аа "Westwind sits upon the Roof of the World, anchored in gray granite to
the mountains themselves, walled against the weather, and armored against
all assailants ..." Creslin did not compose the words he employs, but
calls them from his memory of words written by another silver-haired man,
kept in a small volume addressed to him.
аа "... and during the storms, the great hall, with its furnaces and