"Patricia C. Wrede - Lyra 02 - The Raven Ring" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wrede Patricia C)

 "It took that long for word to get back to the capital," Gralith said, understanding in turn. "Climeral
sent it to me this morning, as soon as he was certain."

Eleret shrugged. "It doesn't matter. One of us has to go, and Pa can't. That leaves me."

"It's not an easy trip," Gralith warned. "You'll have to go overland, so it will take at least a month.
And even in Ciaron you may run into people who . . . dislike Cilhar intensely."

"Syaski, who'd rather see a Cilhar dead than not, you mean," Eleret said, nodding. "We have
trouble with them now and again, in spite of the Emperor's treaty. They're a little more careful about
when and how they raid, that's all."

"It'd be harder for them to pull their tricks in Ciaron," Eleret's father put in. "Right there under the
Emperor's nose, so to speak. But you pack a full kit anyway, Eleret. Weapons don't do you no good
unless you're carrying them."

"Yes, Pa." Eleret looked over at the two children. "Better get those arrows finished tonight, Nilly;
I'll take a full quiver with me when I leave, and you'll want replacements."

"You're determined to do this?" Gralith said.

"Any reason I shouldn't be?"

Gralith made a helpless gesture, unable to put his misgivings into words. "There's some wild country
between here and the city. You should at least wait for the spring caravans."

"I've traveled wild country before, and I want to see this finished soon."

"Very well," Gralith said, giving up at last. He sighed. "If you have a map, I'll show you the best
route. It's the least I can do."

"I'd be grateful for your help," Eleret replied, and gestured him toward one of the stools beside the
table.




ONE


Ciaron smelled strange. It wasn't the saltwater smell of the sea, or the fishy tang of the docks,
though both permeated the air even at the farthest inland edge of the city. No, Eleret thought, the odor
that made her nose twitch came from the mingling of coal smoke with frying onions, stale beer, and attar
of roses, and from the reek of hot metal, warm horse dung, and sweaty clothesтАФand all the other smells
of too many people living in the same place. She wondered how the folk passing by her managed not to
notice, and whether she, too, would adjust if she stayed long enough in Ciaron.

The noise was almost as bad as the smell. Wagons rumbled past, wheels clattering against the gray
stone pavement while their loads of jars and barrels clattered against each other. Men and women called
out in singsong voices, praising a confusing array of wares for sale. Shouting children ran through the