"Elizabeth Vaughan - Chronicles Of The Warlands 01 - Warprize" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vaughan Elizabeth)

and I pulled it out to restrain the curly mass. The night was still silent when I picked up my basket and
moved on.

Apparently I was the only large predator prowling the garden tonight.

The warm light spilled out of the castle windows as I moved through the kitchen garden and approached
the back door. The High Court must be in fine fettle tonight. Considering that there was a war on, it
seemed rather odd and inappropriate. But then, the lords and sycophants that made up the bulk of the
Court would think nothing odd about it.

In our glory days, Xy had been a center for trade. The valley and the mountain passes were a gathering
point for caravans, according to the history books. Xy had maintained a standing army, bolstered by the
wealth of the merchants and the produce of the fertile soil. But in my great-grandfatherтАЩs time, the trade
routes had dried up. To make matters worse, in my grandfatherтАЩs reign the Sweat had devastated the
land. Grandfather had sealed the great trade gates, closing the mountain passes and isolating Xy even
further. The standing army had been disbanded, leaving only the Palace and City Guard, and not many of
them. The landed gentry that remained farmed the valley and Xy survived, small and alone, a shadow of
what had been.

Xymund longed for the glorious days of old, and attempted to maintain a тАШcourtтАЩ, gathering the тАШlords and
ladiesтАЩ and their children to fawn upon him. Since my father had added the craftmasters and the clergy to
his council, there was quite a crowd willing to eat at XymundтАЩs table, and play at the game of nobility.

Once the Warlord had started his march up the valley, many of the Lords had fled their farms and manor
houses and sought the city, bringing the fighting men at their command. This left the hamlets and villages
normally under the lordтАЩs protection to the mercies of the Warlord, and allowed the brute to advance
swiftly, apparently to our very gates.

I slipped in through the old wood door, and tarried for a minute on the threshold. For all its size and huge
hearths, the kitchen always seemed hot, overcrowded and cluttered. Here Anna the Cook reigned in all
her glory. She was standing in the middle of the room, directing serving staff, cooks and footmen like the
skilled general she was. A huge, fat woman, whose apron was covered in food stains, she tolerated
nothing and no one. I noticed with envy that all her straight black hair stayed in its bun. Wielding her
wooden spoon, she was a force to be reckoned with. Nothing escaped her scrutiny.

Including me.

She took one look and gave an exasperated snort, which set all of her chins wobbling at once. тАЬChild,
look at yourself.тАЭ Her voice boomed across the kitchen. Some of the staff looked up and glanced at me
with sympathy, but then continued on with their work. Anna made her way over, scowling, her keys to
the spice cupboard rattling as she moved. тАЬYou look like a ragged pilgrim.тАЭ She threatened me with her
spoon. тАЬYou havenтАЩt eaten, have you.тАЭ Her voice carried easily over the noise and confusion.

тАЬAnna, you can read me like a book.тАЭ

тАЬAs if I would waste time reading a book.тАЭ She bellowed something out and before I knew it, she and I
were seated at a corner of the large, battered wooden table amidst the dishes, eating fresh hot bread with
her special honey butter slathered all over it. My bundles had been added to the dirty rag pile, and my
basket sat on the table. She kept a stern eye on the staff as we ate and occasionally erupted into
admonitions when things werenтАЩt being done to her standards.