"Martha Wells - Fall of Ile-Rien 03 - The Gate of Gods" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

тАЬTremaine, if you have a moment.тАЭ Giaren stepped up to her, opening a brown cardboard portfolio. He


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was a young man, dressed very correctly, with his hair slicked back. He was NilesтАЩs assistant in the
Viller Institute, though he wasnтАЩt a sorcerer himself. тАЬI thought you might want some of these.тАЭ

The portfolio was filled with photographs. Tremaine took the first he handed her, diverted. тАЬYou took
these?тАЭ

тАЬYes.тАЭ He paged through the others, selecting a few. тАЬIтАЩve been using the camera to help catalog the
InstituteтАЩs experiments with the spheres and it seemed natural to take some exposures of the Ravenna.
Though,тАЭ he admitted, apparently realizing just how many photographs were in the portfolio, тАЬI seem to
have gotten a bit out of hand.тАЭ

The black-and-white image Tremaine held was grainy but she recognized the RavennaтАЩs boat deck
immediately. It had to have been taken when they were disembarking at Capistown port; the long hulls
of the lifeboats that nearly made a roof over the deck were swung out in their davits and a crowd of
refugees and sailors milled around the railings. Back against the wall, Giliead was seated on the steps
that led up to one of the hatches, Ilias at his feet. Many of the other figures were a little blurry as the
camera had caught them in motion; the two Syprians, sitting still, were in sharper focus.

There was a hard edge to GilieadтАЩs face and his expression was guarded and suspicious. Ilias looked
more relaxed but still watchful. His hair had come mostly loose from his queue and hung down past his
shoulders in a mane of curls and tangles. The lack of color muted the effect of their Syprian clothes, but
the sleeveless shirts and jerkins, the leather boots and braid, armbands and earrings and the pants with
lacing rather than buttons still looked exotically different from the dungarees or tweed or pullovers that
everyone else seemed to be wearing.

From this distance the curse mark branded into IliasтАЩs cheek was just a glint of metallic light against his
skin.

She sorted through the other photographs, finding one of the shipтАЩs officers posed rather stiffly in the
wheelhouse, and one of Gerard and Niles, GerardтАЩs dark head bent down near NilesтАЩs sleek blond one,
their backs half-turned toward the camera and their attitude that of conspirators. So the last great
sorcerers of Ile-Rien will be remembered to posterity, she thought dryly, if there is a posterity. But the
next was of Arites, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a lounge she didnтАЩt recognize, his parchment
sheets in his lap and his wooden pen in his hand, gazing earnestly up at someone standing over him. His
braids were loose and his hair was falling into his eyes, making him look much younger than he was.
Had been.

Giaren must have read her expression. He said quietly, тАЬThatтАЩs the young man who was killed, isnтАЩt it?тАЭ

Tremaine let out her breath, ignoring the tightness in her chest. тАЬYes. One of them.тАЭ

Giaren cleared his throat and sorted through the folder of photos again, changing the subject. тАЬI thought I

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