"Michelle West - The Memory of Stone" - читать интересную книгу автора (West Michelle)

THE MEMORY OF STONE
Michelle West
THE Guildmaster Gilafas ADelios, commonly acknowledged by The Ten houses to be
most powerful man in Aver-alaan, stood in front of the long window by which he might sur
the eastern half of Averalaan Aramarelas. He had no throne, no place in the Hall of Wise
Counsel, no direct route to the ears of the Kings, the two men who ruled the breadth of the
Empire of Essalieyan. But money counted for much in the Empire; what The Ten owned in
political realm, he rivaled by the simple expedient of wealth.
He was not a young man, nor a particularly tall one, and his hair, on those days whe
had no onerous public duties, fell in a white plume down the back of his head.
On this particular day, it was a solid braid.
He glanced out of the window, his eyes skimming the surface of the ocean beyond
seawall. Light sparkled there, in a pattern the makers of the east tower were doub
attempting to capture. It reached his eyes but no more; he looked away.
The ocean's voice was strong. The strongest of the voices that he heard.
"Master Gilafas."
Certainly the most welcome voice. Gilafas was an Artisan. But in truth, he was only ba
that; the weakest, the most insignificant of the Artisans the guild had produced in centurie
galled him when he thought on it, and he was a maker; he could dwell upon any fact, wit
pause to eat or drinkтАФor sleep, for that matterтАФfor a full three days.
Duvari, the man who had spoken, knew it.
He was called the Lord of the Compact, the leader of the Astari, the men who served in
shadows the Kings cast. Although the
Lord of the Compact understood Artisans as well as any not maker-born could, he was
by nature a patient man. Nor was he a man that anyone angered without reason, and that, on
good one.
Gilafas ADelios turned. He did not bow; Duvari's rank did not demand such a gesture o
respect. Indeed, his presence today almost demanded otherwise.
"Master Duvari."
"Duvari."
"Duvari, then. How may I help you?"
The insincerity of the question was not lost upon the Astari, but it brought a cold smi
his lips, his austere face.
"You may help me by tendering to the Kings their due."
"You've become a tax collector, have you?" Testy, testy words. The door opened. San
Gilafas's assistant, and a Master in his own right, froze beneath the steepled wooden frame
robes swirling at his feet. Clearly he had run the length of the hall.
He had the brains to bow instantly. "Guildmaster."
"I am afraid, Sanfred, that we will begin the testing late today. Tell the adjudicato
stand ready."
Sanfred was not a subtle man. He hesitated. But he was not an Artisan either; the
madness that possessed him possessed him when he made, and none of the makers wo
without the leave of the Guildmaster during the testing. "There areтАФ"
"Not now, Sanfred."
"Yes, Guildmaster."
The doors swung shut. Gilafas turned to face the man who ruled the Astari. "The applic
are waiting in the city streets."
"Indeed."
"The adjudicators will not begin without me."
"Then I will be brief."