"Melanie Rawn - Dragon Star 3 - Skybowl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rawn Melanie)

concentrated on
*uch; it was the next logical place to seize on the way to Feruche, where Pol was; it was a place
of dragons.
If the choice was his, then it would be Skybowl. The sixth dnd last to fall. It could not be
bought back from the Goddess' claim, not even with faith. A battle would be fought there. Men and
women would die there. Skybowl would go the way of Stronghold.
Andry knew all the castles of the Desert. He had visited them in childhood, before going first to
High Kirat and his abbreviated service as Prince Davvi's squire and then to Goddess Keep, where he
had always wanted to be. Stronghold was destroyed, as was Tuath; Radzyn still stood, though in
enemy hands. Skybowl and Tiglath were held fast. And FerucheтАФ
Of them all, next to Radzyn, Feruche was dearest to him. It was his dead twin brother's work, his
legacy of beauty and strength. Sorin's very spirit lived within its walls and towers.
Stronghold and Tuath were gone. He had bought Radzyn's safety. Remagev was useless to the enemy,
as was Tiglath now that the Merida were shattered. If it came to a choice between Skybowl and
Feruche, there was no choice. Skybowl would be the sacrifice. The sixth and last offering to the
Goddess.
No, that wasn't quite right. She was not so cruel, she had said so. Then why must another castle
fall?
His head ached with it, his heart in turmoil. He gave it up, but for one clear decision: Feruche
would not be the one to fall.
Faint sounds intruded on his thoughtsтАФfamiliar sounds that should have blended into his
consciousness unheeded. What had this barren land done to him, that noises heard from childhood
caught his attention as the strange noises of the Desert did not? The ring of steel on stone, the
call of the master masons, the grunts of the slavesтАФall the sounds of the quarry that was his
family's wealth. Good, solid granite with beautiful black graining, cut into smooth blocks to
build homes and temples as far away as Kersau, the Island of the Blind....
But those sounds did not belong here. Wind, the occasional clatter of sandstone pebbles, the
whisper of sand underfootтАФthe Desert had its own music, and he had reluctantly learned to
appreciate it. The cutting of stone, however, was as alien here as he.
Coming out of his tent, he fixed a cold gaze on the Flametower, all that could be seen of
Stronghold from his camp. A single lifted finger brought a guard running, a horse
[rotting along behind. He mounted, galloped up the slope to the canyon, and bent his head as he
went through the tunnel.
They were using picks on the cobbles of the outer court->ard. They were hacking away at the walls.
They were gouging mortar from the foundation stones.
They stopped when they saw him, and knelt before him in their hundreds, proud of what they had
accomplished.
He spoke very softly into the hush. "The priest?"
"In the gardens, O Most High," someone said to the broken cobbles.
"Bring him."
Someone else scrambled to his feet and, after bowing to him where he sat the stallion, raced for
the inner gardens. A few of the others risked a glance upward. He ignored them.
The priest did not hurry. His strides were long with confidence, but he did not hurry. Nor did he
bow. His voice was rich and smug.
"Since the Fire was chased away by your righteousness, lord, I have been thinking how best to
drive the lingering evil from this place. After much prayer, the solution was vouchsafed me: bring


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