"01 - Sword Dancer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Jennifer)

Moon, and maybe I can help," I said abruptly, wanting to banish the sensation
and recollection.
"You can't help." One hand tucked hair behind an ear as she settled the leather
harness.
"Why not?"
"You just can't." She swung out of the hyort and marched across the sand to
Moon's tent.
I caught up. But before I could stop her she had drawn the silver-hilled sword
and sliced the doorflap clear off his hyort. Then she was inside, and as I
jumped in behind her I saw her put the deadly tip of the shining blade into the
hollow of Moon's brown throat.
"In my land I could kill you for what you did to me." But she said it coolly,
without heat; an impartial observation, lacking passion, and yet somehow it made
her threat a lot more real. "In my land, if I didn't kill you, I'd be named
coward. Not an-ishtoya, or even a plain ishtoya. But I'm a stranger here and
without knowledge of your customs, so I'll let you live." A trickle of blood
crept from beneath the tip pressing into Moon's flesh. "You are a foolish little
man. It's hard to believe you had a part in disposing of my brother."
Poor old Moon. His pig-eyes popped and he sweated so much I was surprised the
sword didn't slide from his neck. "Your brother?" he squeaked.
Cornsilk hair hung over her shoulders. "Five years ago my brother was stolen
from across the Northern border. He was ten, slaver... ten years old." A hint of
emotion crept into her tone. "But we know how much you prize our yellow hair and
blue eyes and pale skin, slaver. In a land of dark-skinned, dark-haired men it
could be no other way." The tip dug in a little deeper. "You stole my brother,
slaver, and I want him back."
"I stole him!" Outraged, Moon gulped against the bite of the sword. "I don't
deal in boys, bascha, I deal in women!"
"Liar." She was very calm. For a woman holding a sword against a man, very calm
indeed. "I know what perversions there are in the South. I know how high a price
a Northern boy goes for on the slaveblock. I've had five years to learn the
trade, trader, so don't lie to me." Her sandalled foot stretched out to prod his
abundant belly. "A yellow-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned boy, slaver. A lot
like me."
Moon's eyes flicked to me quickly, begging silently. On the one hand, he wanted
me to do something; on the other, he knew a movement on my part might trip her
into plunging the blade into his throat. So I did the smart thing, and waited.
"Five years ago?" He sweated through his burnous, patching the yellow silk with
ocher-brown. "Bascha, I know nothing. Five years is a long time. Northern
children are indeed popular, and I see them all the time. How can I know if he
was your brother?"
She said nothing aloud, but I saw her mouth move. It formed a word. And then,
though the sword bit into Moon's throat no deeper, the bright blood turned
raisin-black and glittered against his throat.
Moon exhaled in shock. His breath hissed in the air, and I saw it form a puff of
cloudy frost. Instantly he answered. "There--was a boy. Perhaps it was five
years ago, perhaps more. It was in the Punja, as I traveled through." A shrug.
"I saw a small boy on the block in Julah, but I can't say if he was your
brother. There are many Northern boys in Julah."
"Julah," she echoed. "Where is that?"