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

the portable cloth house of the Parset, or ride on was surely a deciнsion the
cahndor was capable of making on his own. A Slayer would not have spoken so to
one of the Seven.
The cahndor gazed after the one called Hael. He spat upon the ground, and turned
back to me. He raised my chin with his hand, gently, so that his eyes met mine
once more. I saw the nictitating membrane for a moment; then it was gone.
УWhat shall I call you, little crell? Hael says you will live. Do you want to
live?Ф
УI am Estri of Astria, Hadrath diet Estrazi,Ф I said. I thought the second
question rhetorical. I watched his face closely, but my name meant nothнing to
him.
УNo,Ф he said to me, Уyou are not. You are an unnamed crell, bound for the
appreida of the Nernarsi. Your chaldФЧhe ran his hand under the eighteen-strand
belt at my waistЧУmeans nothing here. You have but one choice open to you; you
may live, crell to me, Chayin rendi Inekte, cahndor of the Nemarsi. Or you may,
at this moment, choose to die. Choose now, for the choice will never again be
given you.Ф
The look upon his face convinced me he did not speak in jest. The wind from the
abyss buffeted me. To renounce my chald, my heritage, my Well, my freedom, to
renounce all of those for my lifeЧwhat choice was that? And yet, death renounces
life.
УWhat if I do not wish to choose?Ф I asked him. My voice trembled in my own
ears.
УThen I will choose for you. But if that be the case, then you are bound by my
will.Ф
УWe are all bound, Chayin rendi Inekte.Ф It was my voice that spoke, insolent
and defiant, but I had not willed it to do so.
I saw the anger in his eyes. I swallowed, my fear-dry mouth sour and sticky. If
he chose death for me, so be it. If he chose to make me crell, then it was not
by my will, and I was not bound by his choice. I was not unhappy that the power
within me had so spoken.
Chayin rendi Inekte, cahndor of the Nemarsi, took up the rope in his hands. He
slid its length between his palms, coiled it around his fists. A long-legged,
narrow-beaked pandivver landed, snapнping its wings, near my knee. It regarded
me, unblinking, head cocked. I could see the pulse beat in its throat. Finally,
satisfied, it furled its pinions and began to hunt, stabbing its shari, beak
into the ground, throwing its head into the air to swallow, then repeating the
process. Its long legs carried it away, bobbling, its feathered rear raised to
the moon.
УYou know nothing, crell, of our customs. Unнcommitted, your lot will be hard.
Perhaps too hard. As a favor, I will bind you here and leave you for the
desert,Ф he said as he rebound my hands beнhind my back, and passed the loop of
rope about my belly, tying it in front. УI have not the time for you.Ф
He got to his feet. I looked up at him from where I knelt on the sand. The
horror of my situation had me frozen. I had thought he would take me, or kill me
quickly, mercifully. But he would leave me bound and helpless in the barrens,
food for whatнever first happened upon me. He turned his back to me, and the
moonglow fired the ShaperТs seal on the cloak he wore. My father had done this
to me, placed me here in the path of pain and dying, that I might not interfere
in his plans. Of all I had suffered at the hands of men, his stroke had been the