"Moon, Elizabeth - Deed Of Paksenarrion - 02 - Divided Allegiance V1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

By the time they had been on the road a few days, Paks felt a little more comfortable with the other guards. She still did not feel like trusting them in a bad fight, but she found them much like other soldiers she had known. A few were outcasts of this company and that militia, but most were reliable and hard-working. Some had never been anything but caravan guards, and had no skills beyond aiming a crossbow. Others were well trained, and had left respectable military units for all sorts of unimportant reasons.
Days passed. It was hotter on the Copper Hills track than any place Paks had yet been; the others told her this was the hottest part of the year.
"The smart ones take the spring caravans," said one, hunkered in the shade of a wagon one noon.
"When there is a spring caravan."
"Yes, well, what can you expect of merchants?"
"High prices." A general laugh followed this. Paks sweltered in her chainmail and looked east, toward the distant line of ocean. On some of the higher ground, when the heat haze didn't blur it, she could see the sand and water form long, intricate curves. It looked cool out there. Finally she asked someone why they didn't travel closer to the ocean.
"Where are you from?"
"The north,' she said. "Northwest of Verella."
"Oh. That's inland, isn't it? You don't know much about the sea. Well, if we went closer to the sea, we'd get down in the worst country you can imagine. SandЧhave you ever tried walking through sand?"
"I walked on a little bit of beach, between Immerdzan andЧ"
"No, not a beach. Dry sandЧloose sand. It'sЧoh, blast. It'sЧit's worse than a dry plowed field." That Paks could understand, and she nodded. He went on. "So think about these wagonsЧthe wheels sink in, and the mules labor. We labor. And then it's swamp. Sticky, wet, salt marsh. And more sand. And it's not coolЧits beastly hot, and the water is salt, and everything stinks. Ycch."
"And don't forget the pirates," put in another of the guards.
"I was coming to that. PiratesЧthey call it the robber's coast, you know."
"But how do pirates live there?"
"Some people like eating crabs and clams and things. There's plenty of that shellfish. There are fresh-water springs here and there, so they say. A few miserable shacky villages. And the pirates have ships, mid can sail away."
Despite the ominous name of robber's coast, and the caravan master's precautionsЧor because of themЧno Bandits showed their faces, and the caravan crawled steadily northward without any trouble. Paks practiced the crossbow, and impressed the other guards with her fencing. She, in turn, spent plenty of time spirting out dirt after trying unarmed combat with the others. They had rricks she had never seen in the Company.
Finally she saw the smudge on the horizon ahead, where the Dwarfhiounts crossed the line of the Copper Hills. As they came closer, she could see that they ran east of the present coast line, and saw the angle of shore change from sand and mud to rock again.
"That's the Eastbight," said a merchant, when he saw her looking. "If you sail, you have to get well out for the best currents."
"And where you don't ever want to go," added one of the guards, "is over thereЧ" He pointed to a wide bay that lay in the angle. "That's Slaver's Bay. If there's a robber on the coast, there's ten in Slaver's Bay. It'd take a Company the size of your Duke's to keep you safe in that place."
"I've traded there," objected another merchant. The guard looked at him.
"Well," he said finally, "they must not have liked your faceЧor your fortune."
The caravan had reached the crossroads, and turned west for the pass through the Copper Hills into the Eastmarches of Aarenis. Paks began to look arher map again, hoping she could find the trail that led to the eastern pass of the Dwarfwatch. The other guards kept suggesting that she find a companion, but she was reluctant to ask anyone; she didn't want everyone on the caravan to know where she was going. Finally they took it on themselves to look.
"If you want a traveling companion, there's another that's leaving us at the Silver Pass."
"Oh?" Paks kept working at the crossbow mechanism. "Who is it?"
"That elf." She looked up, startled. She hadn't known there was an elf with the caravan. Jori grinned wickedly. "Proud as elves are, you won't have to worry about *im bothering you."
Paks ignored that, "What's he leaving for?" Jori's smile faded. "OhЧsays he's going to the Ladysforest You know, the elf kingdom. But he'd be going part of the way with you."
"Huh." Paks set the crossbow down and stood up, stretching. "Where is he?"
"Over there." Jori cocked his chin at the group around the big fire. "Ill introduce you, eh?"
"Not yet. I want to see him first."
"In the gray cloak, then," said Jori. He looked to be a fingersbreadth shorter than she was, Paks thought, and he didn't look like the elves she had seen, but for something a little alien in the set of his green-gray eyes, and his graceful way of moving. His voice held some of the elven timbre and music.
"No, I have business in my own kingdom," he was saying to a merchant of spice.
"But don't you fear the high trails alone?" asked another. "Fear?" His voice mocked them and his hand dropped lightly to the golden hilt of a slender sword. The merchants nodded and murmured. Paks looked closely at the sword. Very slenderЧa dueller's blade, she thought. If he had not been elvish, she would have suspected bravado rather than confidence in that word. He was slender and moved lightly. She could not tell, for the strange billowing style of his tunic, whether his shoulders were broad enough for a practiced warrior. His hands were sinewy, but she saw no training scars or calluses. Was it the firelight, or did elves not callus? One of the merchants looked up then and noticed her.
"Ho, a guard! It's that tall wenchЧcome to the fire, girl, and be warm." He waved an expansive arm. Paks grinned and stayed where she was.
"Tis warm enough here, by your leave. But 1 heard talk of the high trails, and came near to listen."
"What do you want with that? Are you planning to skip the caravan and go north?"
"I'd heard of several trails," said Paks. She didn't want to say exactly how much she knew. "And I knew someone who'd been over Dwarfwatch. But if there's a shorter wayЧ"
"Oh, shorter," said another merchant. "That's with where you're going in the northЧ" He looked closely at Paks, but she didn't say anything. After a moment he shrugged and went on. "If you go straight across at Silver Pass, you come out between Prealith and Lyonya, but there's a good trail on the north side that will bring you west again and out near the southeast corner of Tsaia." Paks nodded. She felt rather than saw the elf watching her. "That trail meets the one crossing from Dwarfwatch; there's a cairn at the crossing, and a rock shelter. If you're headed for Tsaia, the distance isn't less, but you can travel fester alone, and the passes themselves are easier than the Dwarfwatch route. Tliat high oneЧ" he broke off and shook his head.
Paks followed this with interest. "I thank you, sir," she said. "I have no great knowledge of mountaincraft; I had heard only that the pass was short."
The merchant laughed. "AyeЧit's short enough. If you get over it. Ice in midsummer, and blizzardsЧdangerous always, and for one aloneЧwell, were I you, I'd take the eastern passes, the ones we spoke of. You'll be in mountainous country longer, but none of it as high or as cold. Does the Wagonmaster know you're leaving?"
"Of course, sir!" Paks was angry, but she saw by the reactions of the others that no insult was meant.
"I would ask him to free you for the eastern pass," said the merchant seriously. "Especially since you're traveling alone."
Paks nodded and said no more. The merchants returned to their usual topics: what product they had found in this or that port, and how well they sold; who ruled what cities, and what the recent war would do to the markets.
"What I worry about," said one enormous man in a heavy yellow cloak, "is what it will do to the tolls. They say the Guild League spent and spent for this last years fighting-Чthey'll have to get it back somehow, and what easier than by raising the tolls?"
"They need us too much," said another. "And they were founded to give trade a chance. The Guild League won't rob us, take my word for it."
"If they do, there's the river," suggested another. "Now Alured's settled down to play Duke, he'll be letting us use the river againЧ"
"Ha! That old wolf! By Simyits, you can't believe a pirates's changed by gaining a title, can you? And what nave we ever got, come to that, from the noble lords and their kind? They want our gold, right enough, when a war's brewing, but after that it'sЧoh, those merchanters: no honor, no loyaltyЧtax 'em down, they're getting too proud." Paks found herself laughing along with the rest, though she, too, thought of merchanters as having no honorЧlike the militia of Vonja. It had never occurred to her before to wonder what the merchanters thought of anyone.
When she came off watch that night, and stopped by the guards' fire for a mug of sib, a cloaked figure rose across 9ie circle of light to greet her. She caught a flash of green from wide-set eyes.
"Ah. Paksenarrion, is it not?"
Paks stood stiffly, uncertain. "Yes. And you, sir?"
He bowed, gracefully, but with a curious mocking style. "Macenion, you may call me. An elf, as you see." Paks nodded, and reached for the pot of sib. "Allow meЧ" he said softly, and a tin mug rose from the stack beside the pot, dipped into the liquid, and rose to Paks's hand. She froze, her breath caught in her throat. "Go on," he said. "Take it." She looked at the mug, then her hand, then folded her fingers gingerly around the mug's handle. She nearly dropped it when it sank into her grip. She let her breath out, slowly, and sipped. It tasted like sibЧshe wondered if he had put anything into it. She froze again as another mug rose from the pile, filled itself, and sailed across the fire to Macenion. He plucked it from the air, bowed again to her, and took a sip himself. "I apologize," he said lightly, "if I frightened you. I had heard you were a warrior of some experience."