"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Ethshar 3 - The Unwilling Warlord" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

"Dogal," Sterren called, "send them in."
Dogal said nothing, but stepped aside and allowed the three waiting men
to enter.
Each in turn stepped into the chamber, bowed, spoke, and then stepped
aside to make room for the next.
"Anduron of Semma, Lord Sterren," said the first, with a graceful bow and
a jingle of jewelry. He was tall and sturdy, richly dressed in blue silk,
perhaps thirty years old, certainly much older than Sterren. Like every Semman
Sterren had yet seen, he was dark-haired and deeply tanned. Sterren thought he
detected a family resemblance to the king.
He also detected, more definitely, a trace of scent, something vaguely
flowery.
"Arl of the Strong Arm," said the next, bobbing his head. He was shorter,
but Sterren guessed his weight to be no less than Anduron's, and his age was
probably similar. He wore a red kilt and red-embroidered yellow tunic and
smelled of nothing but leather and sweat.
"Shemder the Bold," said the third, without ceremony. He fell between the
others in height, but clearly weighed less than either of them, being thin and
wiry, and was younger as well, surely no more than twenty-five, but still
older than Sterren. His garb was similar to Arl's, but more ornate and better
kept, and Sterren could detect no odor at all.
These three were more or less displaying the forms of deference due a
superior, but it was obvious they did not really feel any of the respect those
forms implied.
Lady Kalira had been subtler in her contempt.
"I'm Sterren of Ethshar," Sterren replied, bowing in his turn. He
pronounced "Ethshar" correctly, refusing to yield to the Semman usage. After
all, he thought resentfully, Semmat did use the th sound, just not in
combination with sh.
"Your pardon, my lord," said Anduron, "but would it not be more proper to
call yourself Sterren, Ninth Warlord of Semma?"
Anduron's words were smoothly spoken, and Sterren would have liked to
make a graceful reply. His limited knowledge of the language forced him to
make do with, "I guess you're right. I'm still new at this." He smiled, not
very convincingly.
Behind him. Alder was hurriedly stuffing the last few bites of
gravy-soaked bread into his mouth.
The three new arrivals stood stiffly silent for a moment.
"Lord Sterren," Shemder said, finally, "you sent for us?"
"Yes," Sterren said. "Of course. Sit down." He waved at the chairs in the
various corners. Alder was just getting up from the chair at the desk, and
after an instant's hesitation Sterren settled on the foot of the bed instead
of trying to maneuver behind the soldier.
The officers obeyed, bringing the chairs to a rough semicircle. Once
seated, they stared stonily at Sterren.
He took a deep breath and delivered his little speech, two of the longest
sentences he had yet contrived in Semmat.
"I called you here because I am told I am a warlord now, whether I like
it or not. I think I need to find out what that means, and what it is I am
expected to do."