"02 - Sword Singer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Jennifer)

now, never, be a man, no matter how hard he wished it; no matter how hard she
did. Jamail, Delilah's beloved brother, who desired to stay in the South with
the savage tribe he had grown to love.
I wanted to touch her, but our horses stood too distant from one another.
Instead, I nodded. And after a moment, intending to lighten the mood, I smiled
and shrugged. "Well, you do have me."
At length, she slanted me an eloquent glance from the corners of her eyes
without even turning her head. "That is something, I suppose."
"Something," I agreed blandly, choosing to ignore Del's tone altogether. "I am
the Sandtiger, after all."
"After all." She twisted her head to look north. "There is food in Harquhal.
Real food; something other than dried cumfa and dates."
I nodded, brightening. "And aqivi as well."
"We don't have the coin to spend on spirits."
"Do you expect me to drink goat's milk?"
She contemplated me a moment. "They both smell about the same. What difference
would it make?"
"About as much difference as you swapping Boreal for Theron's sword." I stopped
short as I saw how shock turned her to stone. And then I realized what I'd done.
"Del--Del, I'm sorry--" Wondering: Oh, hoolies, how could I have been so stupid?
"Del--I'm sorry--"
She was white-faced with anger as she reined her speckledy gelding next to the
stud. She didn't seem to notice as the stud laid back ears and bared teeth
stained yellow by Southron grasses and grains.
But I noticed. I noticed also the rigid hand that reached out to catch my wrist.
And closed. More tightly than was pleasant.
"Never," she said distinctly, "speak her name aloud again."
No. No, of course not. I knew better. I knew better. "Del--"
"Never," she said again, and took her hand away from my wrist.
There were marks upon it. They faded even as I watched, but the sensation
didn't. Certainly the memory wouldn't. Ever.
I flexed my hand to see if all the fingers worked. They did; Del isn't that
strong. But strong enough; I felt guilty as well as resentful that she could
command me so easily.
"I'm sorry," I repeated, wishing there was something more I could say.
Del's mouth was a flat line. Its grimness ruined the symmetry of her features,
but also impressed upon me the depth of her displeasure. "Her name is sacred."
It was so taut a tone as to lack definition, and yet I heard the undercurrent of
shock, fear, despair.
"Del--"
"Sacred, Tiger." Del released an unsteady breath and I saw some of the tension
leave her body, replaced with outright anguish. "It's all a part of the power,
the magic... if you divulge her name to others, all the rituals are undone--"
She stopped short, searching for comprehension in my face. "All the time, all
the years, all the dedication... the sacrifice is as nothing--"
"Del, I know--I know. You've told me. It was a slip, nothing more." I shrugged,
keenly uncomfortable, knowing I devalued her feelings even as I tried to assuage
my guilt. "I promise, I won't ever say her name again."
"If another heard it--another Northerner trained as I was trained, knowing how
to tap the magic, how to destroy the jivatma--" Again she broke off, then