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

"Good."
Again, the winter of Duvari's smile crept up his face. Gilafas wondered idly if Duvari
a smile that did not make his expression colder and grimmer. The Guildmaster was
however, a simple noble, to be intimidated by a mere expression. "The Astari had heard
you were to personally oversee these applicants. A highly unusual step for a man of your r
is it not?"
"Your business, Duvari. Please."
"It is my business."
"You overstep yourself. It is guild business; an entirely internal matter."
"May I remind you, Guildmaster Gilafas ADelios, that in the history of the Guild o
Makers annals, the Guildmaster has only presided over the testing when he has had reaso
suspect that among the applicants, he will find someone . . . unusual?"
Gilafas shrugged, and considered, briefly, the folly of giving himself over to the oce
song. As Artisan, he could almost do so without giving offense. Frowning, he lifted his ha
they were shaking. He had not expected that. "A moment," he said, more curtly than he
intended. He reached out and gripped the edge of curtains heavy with the fall of chain l
They snapped shut audibly at the force of his pull.
"Guildmaster, is there any chance that you seek your successor among the applicants?"
Gilafas chuckled. "No chance whatsoever, Duvari. Is that all?"
Duvari did not move.
They stood a moment, two men assured by their successes in life of their rank, their pow
To Gilafas' surprise, it was Duvari who spoke first.
"I was sent to tell you," he said stiffly, "that the Orb in the Rod is now white."
Ah. Gilafas closed his eyes. Were he any other man, he might pretend that the words ha
significance; he might ask, in a pleasant, modulated tone, What rod, what orb? But that g
was not a game he could play. Not against Duvari; Duvari served the Kings.
Behind the shell of closed lids, he could see not the Kings, but the hands of Kings, an
them, the items gifted their line by an Artisan centuries ago: the Rod and the Sword. Wisd
Justice. Weapons for the oldest of the Empire's many wars, and the most important: the war
was its founding. Magic lay within them and upon them, bound to the blood of the god-born
He had never touched either Rod or Sword. Had prayed that he never would. He could
say what force they summoned, what spell they contained, but he knew them for more
simple ornament. They were weapons against old magic, old darkness, old wars.
And they had slept for centuries.
When he opened his eyes again, Duvari was closer; had closed the distance between
without making a sound. "You expected this," he said softly. It was the first accusation he
made.
"Aye, we expected it," Gilafas replied, weary. Why now? Why today? He bru
nonexistent hair from his eyes. Yes, his hands were shaking; the pull of the ocean was stro
than it had been in weeks, and he would have to take care.
"What of the Sword, Duvari?"
"The Sword?"
"The gem in the sword hilt."
"It is as it has always been."
"And the runes upon the blade itself?"
"The King has had no cause to draw the Sword."
"He has cause," Gilafas said, forcing strength into words that wanted to come out
whisper. "Tell himтАФask himтАФto draw the blade. Read what is written there. Return
word of what it says."
"I suspect, from your demeanor, that you already know." Duvari held his gaze, and that,