"Katya Reimann - Tielmaran 2-A Tremor in the Bitter Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reimann Katya)

тАЬThe Great Twins beg you, have mercy!тАЭ he beseeched them, and threw wide his hands in
supplication.
Corbulo paralyzed him with a second black-tipped dart. The boy dropped facedown into the fallen
chestnut flowers with an anguished cry.
Tullier, half-sick with the joy of victory, hardly heard him. He stopped at the corpse of the fair-haired
knight: an older man, with silver at his collar and sleeves. Stooping, he plunged his Sha Muir knife into the
body, below where the arrow had taken the man in the chest. Blood slicked the bladeтАЩs thunderbolt
figureтАФthe Goddess LlaraтАЩs sign. This, after so many years of preparation, was his first kill as a Sha
Muira. Wetting his fingers with blood from the blade, Tullier marked his right shoulder with four short
lines. Great LlaraтАФHe closed his eyes, tried to imagine the face of the gray goddess turned towards
him, splendor and joy rising at her servantтАЩs first blooding. This kill is for you; for the Emperor; for
BissantyтАФHe had trained more than a decade for this moment. Pictured it in its perfection, its gloryтАФ
тАЬYou almost missed your second man.тАЭ
Breaking his prayer short, TullierтАЩs eyes flicked to his second corpseтАФthe groomтАФthen across to his
journey-master. The broad-chested man, swaggering in full Sha Muir garb, moved quickly among his
own kills, imprinting his blade with the three deaths. Unlike Tullier, Corbulo did not pause to mark his
shoulders. The tall journey-master merely wiped his knife on the skirt of his robe and sheathed it.
Shoulder-marking was for novices, that gesture told Tullier. тАЬFinished there?тАЭ he asked. тАЬOr are you
taking the other one too?тАЭ
Tullier lifted his chin. тАЬIтАЩm finished.тАЭ Set to him as a question, he couldnтАЩtтАФhe wouldnтАЩtтАФmark his
other shoulder with the blood of the second man he had killed. Not now. Not with Corbulo giving him
such a sly look, dark eyes smiling down his nose to see if his new novice would mark his every kill,
however contemptible, to the GoddessтАЩs name.
Corbulo was right, however hard it cut him to admit it. Tullier had rushed, and in rushing heтАЩd
fumbled his second kill; Great Llara would know. Unlike the knight, the groom had carried no weapon. It
would mean nothing to dedicate that death to her.
Tullier sheathed his blade, his first thrill draining.
Lady VanderiveтАЩs guard had not been the challenge for which the young novice had primed himself,
and even so, heтАЩd managed to bungle one of his kills. The boy glanced, frustrated, at the rapidly
blanching face of the knight heтАЩd shot down. One kill for Llara. A second missed through clumsiness,
right there for his master to see. For no reason, no reason at all, outside of his own haste.
He had been cautioned that killing freemen would be harder than despatching slaves. Warned that
first-timers had to guard against haste, fear, and a kind of panicked admiration for those who struggled to
preserve their lives. Already heтАЩd failed to heed the first of those warnings.
He glanced around the little clearing, trying to convince himself that the rest of the mistakes would be
easier to avoid. Fear and admiration? Though hurry had marred this first taste of freemenтАЩs death, Tullier
could not see how it differed in its essentials from culling slaves in a practice yard. CorbuloтАЩs careful
planning had reduced it to that. Spread among the fallen clusters of carnelian-and-white chestnut buds
were the pathetic remains of a picnic lunch: linen napkins; fresh white bread and early spring fruits;
childrenтАЩs toys. Though the knights had been armed, the picnickers had been ready only for a day of
pleasure. Corbulo, leaving nothing to chance, had waited until they had unpacked their luncheon and laid
aside their weapons before striking. The ladyтАЩs knights had died as theyтАЩd sported with the children, not a
weapon in their hands.
Corbulo, Tullier thought, might have let one of the knights live long enough to fight. The Sha Muira
would of course have prevailed, but the young apprentice might at least have learned something, facing
such an enemy. Now all that remained was a babe in a folding canvas cradle, paralyzed children, and a
bird-thin woman, also paralyzed, who was powerless to stop them. Where did glory for Llara lie in these
killings? He could not see it. As he stood by the fresh corpse of the knight, the musky scent of crushed
chestnut flowers mixed with the tang of blood. An inexplicable bitter gall choked his throat.
тАЬDisappointed, youngster?тАЭ Corbulo pushed by, making for the slumped woman. тАЬDonтАЩt be. There is