"Jennifer Roberson - Karavans - Ending and Beginning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberson Jennifer)

He seemed to realize it. To regret it. A grimace briefly twisted his mouth. "Forgive me.
I am badly in need of work."
Ilona gathered the folds of her shawl even as she gathered patience. "The season is end
And I am not the one to whom you should apply. Jorda is the karavan-master."
"I'm told he is the best."
"Jorda isтАФJorda." She settled the shawl over the crown of her head, shrouding untamed
ringlets. "Excuse me."
He turned only slightly, giving way. "Will you speak to him for me?"
Ilona paused, then swung back. "Why? I know nothing of you."
His smile was charming, his gesture self-deprecating. "Of course. But I could acquaint
you."
A foreigner, she saw. Not Sancorran, but neither was he Hercari. In candlelight his hair
was a dark, oiled copper, bound back in a multiplicity of braids. She saw the glint of beads
those braids, gold and silver; heard the faint chime and clatter of ornamentation. He wore
leather tunic and breeches, and from the outer seams of sleeves and leggings dangled shell-
bead-weighted fringe. Indeed, a stranger, to wear what others, in time of war, might constru
wealth.
"No need to waste your voice," she said. "Let me see your hand."
It startled him. Arched brows rose. "My hand?"
She matched his expression. "Did they not also tell you what I am?"
"The dead guide's woman."
The pain was abrupt and sharp, then faded as quickly as it had come. The dead guide's
woman. True, that. But much more. And it might be enough to buy her release from a strang
"Diviner," she said. "There is no need to tell me anything of yourself, when I can read it in
hand."
She sensed startlement and withdrawal, despite that the stranger remained befor
her, very still. His eyes were dark in the frenzied play of guttering shadows. The hand she
could see, loose at his side, abruptly closed. Sealed itself against her. Refusal. Denial.
Self-preservation.
"It is a requirement," she told him, "of anyone who wishes to hire on with Jorda."
His face tightened. Something flickered deep in his eyes. She thought she saw a hint of
"You'll understand," Ilona hid amusement behind a businesslike tone, "that Jorda must b
careful. He can't afford to hire just anyone. His clients trust him to guard their safety. How
to know what a stranger intends?"
"Rhuan," he said abruptly.
She heard it otherwise: Ruin. "Oh?"
"A stranger who gives his name is no longer a stranger."
"A stranger who brings ruination is an enemy."
"Ah." His grin was swift. He repeated his name more slowly, making clear what it was
and she heard the faint undertone of an accent.
She echoed it. "Rhuan."
"I need the work."
Ilona eyed him. Tall, but not a giant. Much of his strength, she thought, resided beneath
clothing, coiled quietly away. Not old, not young, but somewhere in the middle,
indistinguishable. Oddly alien in the light of a dozen lanterns, for all his smooth features w
arranged in a manner women undoubtedly found pleasing. On another night, she might; but
Tansit was newly dead, and this strangerтАФRhuanтАФkept her from her wagon, where
might grieve in private.
"Have you guided before?"
"Not here. Elsewhere."