"Silistra - 02 - The Golden Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris Janet E)

from dorkat, the stalkнing carnivore, from slitsa, the slithering fork-tongued,
from friysou, the leather-winged scavenger, and from all that scuttled and
crawled upon the desert sands. In the heat of the day, the desert slept.
Doubtless I could sleep, unmolested. Truly, I had no choice. My limbs would no
longer obey me, and my dreaming mind would no longer hold a train of thought. I
sank into the cool dark, where pain could not find me, nor heat, nor hunger, nor
thirst.
I dreamed of Raet, son of the Shapers, and that he worked his will once again in
the worlds of time and space. I dreamed that he came and bound my hands behind
me, and caused my chald-belt to rust and fall from my body. I knelt where it had
fallen, but it was only powder on the sand. I proнtested to him, and he replied
to me that I could not be allowed to interfere. And my father was beside him,
nodding, the bronze glow from his skin growнing brighter and brighter, until I
buried my head in the sand to shield my eyes from the glare. And I was lifted up
from the ground; RaetТs arms were so hot they seared my skin. But that was
wrong. MiТysten flesh is always cool. I struggled, crying out.
It is more than a jeweled cloak Deracou has blown you, Cahndor.Ф The voice
belonged to the face that swam blurred before me. It was a Parset face, dusky
brown, severe; the whites of the eyes staring into mine were softened by the
Parset nictiнtating membrane. The language was Parset, and my sluggish mind took
long to make sense of it. The sunТs set shadowed the forms before me. Dreamecho
chased their words into my ears.
I would have raised my hands to wipe the sand and sleep from my eyes. I could
not Move them. But I knew I no longer dreamed, for my bodyТs. complaints were
loud within me, the pain a ripнpling film between me and the shadowed forms
bending down in the fading light.
I opened my mouth to speak, to explain, but no sound could I coax from my
parched throat.
And then I smelled it. My nostrils drank first, of the particles the air carried
to me. I will never forget the strength of that odor, the coolness, the life my
nose and throat received from the very air. Water. It was on my lips and in my
mouth and spreading through my dust-covered innards. The feel of it as it
dribbled upon my chin will stay with me as long as I live. My throat knew no
longer how to swallow, my tongue, had forgotten its task.
The faces in front of me sharpened, took focus. I tried with my eyes to thank
them. I managed a wordless sound. I felt again the bladderТs rim against my
lips, the ecstasy of the liquid in my mouth. There was an arm under my head,
hands at my throat. The cloak fell away.
УQuiet, little crell, do not waste your strength.Ф The voice came from above and
behind me. I was held, high in the air. Strong arms supported me, as if I
weighed nothing. My abraded flesh felt tight-curled hairs, moist and warm, where
he held me to him. I remembered. Cahndor, one had called another. УWill of the
sandФ does that word mean. And crell, one had called me. I tried to protest. I
was Estri Hadrath diet Estrazi, former WellнKeepress of Astria, surely no crell.
Crell is a Parset word, for nowhere else upon Silistra does such a status exist.
A crell is other than chaldless, other than human; that beast of burden which
walks upon two legs rather than four. But my protest came out a moan, and I sank
back exhausted, my head against the dark chest of the man that held me, my gaze
lost in the forest of curling black hair upon it. Tiny beads of sweat meandered
among the hairs, split in two by the root shafts, and in Тtwo again.