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

little, as if wanting to speak confidentially. He could practically feel the hundreds sharpen
their hearing on mental whetstones. "You know, I can't help thinking of their wives. Palms
roughened by calluses of sword and shield are marks of honor, but very different from those left
by working stone. These would not be pleasing to a woman's pride as a wifeтАФor to her skin. And
there are times when even the Father of Winds cannot howl as loudly as an angry woman."
No one dared even clear his throat this time.
The priest shifted his legsтАФbetween which there was lacking certain equipment essential to
conjugal relationsтАФ and shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes we priests forget the more practical
and, as you say, worldly considerations."
"You are fortunate to be able to do so," he replied with good humor. "The Dragon Signs, thenтАФand
we shall see how it affects the power of this Azhrei who is steeped in sin."
The priest drew himself up proudly. "And when shall he steep in his own blood?" he challenged.


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He supposed he was owed that, after the rebuke. "The vision was a true one. It shall be done when
the ritual is completed."
"You are making plans to that end?"
He wished he knew where the deadfalls were at Stronghold; he would take significant pleasure in
pushing the priest into one.
"I am." He raised his head to the Flametower. "You might start up there. Dragons sleep atop every
one of those pointed windows."
Turning his horse, he rode from Stronghold. Out in the Desert once more, he gave in to impulse and
urged the stallion to a gallop across the sand, far from the idiots he must suffer for his greater
purpose.
He knew the priests were restless. It was their customary condition, and did not trouble him
overmuch. But this matter of the Desert castles was irksome. The priests wanted so much to
obliterate at least one.
It hadn't been necessary to forbid the destruction of Radzyn and Whitecliff; the priests had
seized on their luxuries gladly. Remagev survived because the old Azhrei had fled itтАФand the traps
inside were too numerous to risk. The priests had grumbled at that, but all he'd had to do was
comment that anyone willing to brave the spells left behind was welcome to do so for the glory of
his clan. Faolain Riverport mattered nothing to him. It was too new to be of importance. The
Merida had demolished and burned Tuath Castle, forgetting all the subtlety of their origins in
their passionate vengeance. As assassins, the only token of their existence was the broken glass
knife left in a victim's heart. But as conquerors, they became as children smashing a coveted toy
for spite.
Feruche mattered little, except that it now sheltered the Azhrei. And her. he reminded himself,
reining in to gaze out at the empty vastness of her Desert. She was why he wanted Stronghold to
remain standing. If the Storm Father was good to him, he would be able to see her, perhaps even
touch her, before the ending. If circumstances were different, he would have named her as the
prize, not the new Azhrei's wife. But things were as they were, and in fact he was glad that she
would not be in the charge of the priests.
Although, he told himself with an inner grin, it would have been a wonder and an education to see.
Turning, he saw the sun balance atop the Flametower. Soon it would glow through the topmost
chamber, almost as if the old Azhrei's fire still burned.
It did not. The young one's Fire would never be lit. Eventually he would leave Feruche and they
would face each other in battle at last. And then, after the victory, the true prize would be