"Roberts, John Maddox - Stormlands 03 - The Poisoned Lands UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts John Maddox)

"Not this time, little queen," he said. "Before, we were in our islands, or ravaging the coasts, where you could stay aboard our ships until I established a base. This march will be long and arduous, and although I know you do not shrink from hardship, I would not wish to inflict this upon you."
"But I will miss all the fighting!" She had always enjoyed the blood and excitement of battle, seeing her husband reduce his enemies to corpses or to terrified, fleeing remnants.
"Ah, you have the heart of a warrior, my queen." He held her close, stroking her ashen hair. "But I need you to hold the throne here for me. I no longer lead a rootless war
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band. I rule a kingdom and I can trust no one else to hold it for me while I am away on campaign."
She was somewhat placated. "Will my power be absolute in your absence?"
"You shall be as a goddess to our subjects. Life and death, freedom, imprisonment or slavery, yours to inflict or withhold at will. Conduct diplomatic relations at your pleasure. The treasury is yours. Undertake those building projects you always speak of. Make a royal progress through the new domains so that your subjects may properly abase themselves before you."
"Very well, my love." She was truly sorry to miss the campaign, but this promised to be even more rewarding. She knew that the king was happy to rid himself of these responsibilities. Like most warriors, he had a broad streak of laziness in his character. Boundlessly energetic in any activity having to do with war, he had little patience or aptitude for the everyday management of his kingdom. She, on the other hand, enjoyed that sort of work.
"I knew you would be pleased with the prospect. Here, see what I have had made for you.' * He snapped his fingers and a slave entered the room bearing a long parcel of rich brocade. He took it from the slave and placed it in his queen's hands. Smiling, she slipped back the heavy cloth sheath to expose a miniature spear made entirely of steel. It was fashioned in the shape of a Shasinn spear with a long, wasp-waisted head and a fluted butt-spike. It was a model of the king's own famous weapon.
* "This is your scepter of power. Let other kings have their crowns and jewelled staffs and thrones. We know the real symbol of power, do we not?"
She hugged him fiercely. "With this, I will rule your people as sternly as you, my love," she vowed. "And bring back plenty of treasure from this war. Some of my projects will be costly."
Laughing, the king enfolded her in his arms.
THREE
j JL 11 my life I have heard of the Canyon," Ansa f^ said. "Now I am in Canyon territory, yet I ft. Wsee no such feature.' * He was out hunting with Fyana, who rode beside him on a small, well-behaved cabo. This was a great relief to him, for he detested the ugly, foul-smelling and ill-tempered bumpers.
"What did you expect to see?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I've seen canyons before. I have been told that this one is bigger."
"It is that," she affirmed. "It is the biggest canyon in the world. A canyon as big as a kingdom."
"Is it a kingdom?" Ansa asked. She favored him with that smug, secret smile he had come to associate with the Canyoners and which be greatly disliked.
"Of a sort. It isn't a kingdom as other nations know such things. There is the Canyon proper, and the high arid lane around it, which we call the Painted Lands. Then there is the lower land to the west, near the big lake, which the
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Nevans call the Zone. Last, there is the desert to the north. Collectively, these are known to foreigners as the Promised Lands."
"But does all this constitute a kingdom*?" he persisted.
"Well, there is a man in the Zone who calls himself a king, and we of the Canyon acknowledge a certain fealty to him. At least that simplifies many of our dealings with foreign lands."
He sensed that she was baiting him, but he could think of no clever, witty response. "I have never known of a land with so many names," he said. "Why the Zone? Why the Poisoned Lands?"
"Those are very ancient names, from the time of the fiery spears, the great catastrophe. We do not use them."
"I had hoped to learn something of this land," Ansa fumed. "It seems that you wish to hinder me in this."
"To truly know this or any land, you must live in it a long time, and learn the ways of its people." She scanned the brushy hillside and held a finger to her lips to silence him. He wondered if she meant that she wanted him to stay. He was sorely tempted, but then he had barely commenced his travels and he was not yet ready to stop. Still, there was no real rush.
"Sss ..." she hissed at him, pointing to her right. He saw a fat, young curlhorn browsing on a bush a hundred paces away. The creature's upper lip was drawn out into a long, prehensile point which it wrapped around twigs, methodically stripping the leaves and thrusting them, bundled, into its mouth.
Ansa took an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. Slowly he raised the bow and pulled the string back to full draw, taking a sight on the spotted flank just behind the shoulder. The string thrummed faintly as he released it and the arrow sped on its swift, silent arc. It sank to the feathers in the animal's flank and Ansa knew the satisfaction of making a perfect heart shot. The curlhorn started in surprise, whirled
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and made two long leaps before collapsing abruptly. Its feet quivered for a moment, then it was still.
"Well shot!" Fyana said. "You did not exaggerate when you described plainsman archery."
"That was not a great distance for a still target," he said, modestly. "Let's collect this one. There will be more. Curl-horn never wander very for alone."
"We'll put on a feast for the whole village," Fyana said.
"Fyana, will you guide me to the Canyon? I want to see it."
She rode to the dead animal and dismounted. She took a colored stick from her pouch and with it drew a ritual sign on the creature's brow. Then she looked up at Ansa.
"Yes. I will take you there."
They had ridden from the village just that morning, but already the air felt different. At first he thought it was cold, but he knew that could not be. They had been climbing most of the day, but not enough to effect a notable drop in temperature. He felt that the air was somehow charged with a power he could not see or truly feel, but that touched a seldom-used sense. He shook his head, unable to put it into words. He decided mat a great many spirits must live here.
The trees were of a sort new to him, rough-barked with twisted limbs bearing fragrant, dark-green needles. The ground was thickly carpeted with fallen, yellow needles of years past, and every step of their cabos sent up a fresh wave of the clean scent. The land they had ridden through all day had been brightly colored but the animals were few. There were no herds and small, scattered family groups seemed to be the norm.
Except for the sounds they made themselves, the land was wrapped in a great silence. In other places, the quiet might have seemed to him sinister or portentious, but here it just seemed restful.
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"My father would love this place," he said, as the sun gave long shadows to the trees.
"Why is that?" she wanted to know.
"He loves two things above all: spirits and a quiet place to meditate. This place has both."
"You think there are spirits here?"
"Aren't there?" he said, surprised. "I am no spirit-man like my father, but even I can feel the power in this place.''