"Tamora Pierce - The Song of the Lioness 3 - The Woman Who Ri" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pierce Tamora)

"Come back, coward!" she cried.
The giant turned to laugh and shake his sword at her. His voice was choked off as a black arrow sprouted
in his chest. More arrows struck down the hillmen; only two escaped. They rode for all they were worth,
pursued by five white-robed tribesmen.
A Bazhir, his white burnoose tied with a scarlet cord, rode toward Alanna as she dismounted. She was
staring at the body of the hillman who had wielded the crystal sword. The blade lay beside him, gleaming
against the sand. It glimmered and suddenly flashed, blinding her for a short moment. Alanna stared:
against the yellow-orange fire that filled her sight was a picture.
A dark fingerтАФor was it a pole?тАФpointed at a crystal-blue sky. Before it stood a man wearing tattered
gray; his eyes were mad. She could smell wood smoke.
Her eyes cleared, and the vision was gone.
Reaching under her shirt, Alanna drew forth the token given to her by the Great Mother Goddess three
years before. It had once been a coal in her campfire; now it was covered in clear stone, its fires still
flickering under its surface. Alanna knew that if she held it when magic was present, she could see power
as a glowing force in the air. She saw magic now as orange light flickered around the sword, and she
scowled. Recently she had dealt with magic of this particular shade, and the memory was not pleasant.
The Bazhir who had followed her kicked sand over the sword. "It is evil," he said, his quiet voice slightly
raspy. "Let the desert have it."
Distracted from the magic, Alanna discovered she was crying. It was as if she had lost a companion, not
a weapon.
A glint of metal caught her eye and she stopped to pick up Lightning's sheared-off blade. Sliding the
length of metal into its sheath, she strapped the now-useless hilt in place. Unless she tried to draw the
blade, no one would know it was not whole.
Mounting her horse, she settled Faithful before her as Coram brought his gelding to her side. "I'm sorry,
lass," he told her quietly, putting a hand on her arm. "I know what the sword meant to ye. But ye can't be
thinking of that now. These men may be friends or may not be; who knows why they saved our skins.
Ye'd best be puttin' yer mind to talk with 'em."
Alanna nodded, trying to collect her thoughts. Their rescuers formed a loose circle around her and Coram
as the man who had covered the crystal sword with sand joined them, guiding a large chestnut stallion
with ease. The others gave way to him, letting him approach Alanna and Coram. For a while he said
nothing, only stared.
Finally he nodded. "I am Halef Seif, headman of the Bloody Hawk tribe, of the people called the Bazhir,"
he said formally. "Those who are dead were trespassers on our sands, riding without leave. You also

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 THE WOMAN WHO RIDES LIKE A MAN - Tamora Pierce

come here unbidden. Why should we not serve you as we did these others, Woman Who Rides Like a
Man?"
Alanna rubbed her head tiredly. She felt too tired and dazed for the dance of manners that passed for
conversation among the Bazhir. Dealing with these desert warriors was bound to be tricky; luckily she
had learned their ways from an expert.
Faithful climbed onto her shoulder, setting up a murmur among the watching tribesmen. Alanna glared
up at her cat, knowing he knew he was making the Bazhir nervous. They don't see black cats with purple
eyes often, she thought. "You're getting too big to sit up there," she whispered to her pet.
Never mind that, Faithful told her. His meowing had always made as much sense to Alanna as human
speech. Talk to them now.
Suddenly she felt more confident and alert. "I hope you will deal with us fairly, Halef Seif of the Bloody
Hawk," she replied. "We took nothing. We harmed nothing, my friend and I. We are simply riding south.
Would you harm a warrior of the King?"