"Janny Wurts - The Cycle of Fire1 - Stormwarden" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wurts Janny)

pulled her, screaming, from his arms.
"Let me have charge of her." Emien raised his voice over her cries. "I'll make her understand."

But Tathagres only gestured to the boatswain. "Lock the girl in the hold."

Believing she tested his loyalty, Emien made no protest, though the brave new oath he had sworn ached
in him like a burden. He waited while Tathagres and her entourage left the sailroom. As the torch was
carried past, light cast an ugly distorted profile of his face against the bulkhead. Emien hid his eyes. The
sting of his raw wrists reminded him of the shackles which still prisoned Anskiere, and he longed for the
simple awe he had known for the Stormwarden of his child-hood. Shamed, he lingered, expecting sharp
rebuke for the rebuttal of his upbringing on Imrill Kand.

But Anskiere offered no reprimand. Neither did he plead. When he spoke at last, his words held sad
and terrible under-standing.

"The waters of the world are deep. Chart your course with care, Marl's son."

And Emien realized he had already been weak. "Murderer," Emien whispered. "Sister-killer." Driven by
feelings beyond his understanding, he banged the door shut, leaving darkness.




Cliffhaven



The wind, which usually blew from the west in summer, dwin-dled until the sails hung limp from the
yards.Crow wallowed over oil-sleek swells, her gear slatting and banging aloft until Emien wished he had
been born deaf. The deckhands cursed. The captain grew sullen and silent and watched Tathagres'
sorcerers with distrust. No one mentioned the stormfalcon. No one dared. Yet archers were stationed in
the crosstrees with orders to watch for her return.

Emien paused for a drink at the scuttlebutt, but bitter water did nothing to ease the knot in the pit of his
stomach. All his life he had lived by the sea; in the oppressive, unnatural calm he read warning of a
savage storm. He squinted uneasily at the horizon. No quiver of air stirred. The ocean lay smooth as
pewter. Day after day the sun rose and blazed like a lamp overhead until the sky seemed to have
forgotten clouds, and the oakum seams be-tween planks softened and blistered underfoot.

"Deck there!" the mate's shout roused the sailhands who idled in the few patches of shade. "Turn out
both watches to shorten sail. The captain's called for oars."

Emien joined the crew at the ratlines with trepidation. Un-covered oar-ports could become a hazard in
open waters. A sudden squall could drive the waves high enough to let in the sea. Yet the risk seemed
less than the prospect of lying mo-tionless at the mercy of the storm every soul on board believed
Anskiere's falcon would unleash. And though Emien had not seen Tathagres since the night he had sworn
her service, her impatience could be felt the length and beam of the galleass.

Yet even under the strong pull of her oarsmen, three more days passed before the lookout sighted land.
The moment the call came from aloft, Emien joined the crowd at the rails, unable to contain his curiosity.