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

All his life, he had heard tales of the stronghold of the pirates; this would be the first time he set eyes on it.
 Cliffhaven jutted upward from the sea, black as flint against the sky. The slate roofs of a village glinted
between jagged outcrops of rock, and above them, like a battered crown, lay the battlements of the
Kielmark's fortress. Emien shivered. No man had ever challenged the Kielmark's sovereignty and won. If
the tales were true, beneath the galleass' keel lay the bones of scores of ships his fleet had sunk to the
bottom. Here even Tathagres was obliged to move with caution.

Crowentered the harbor beneath a white flag of neutrality. No royal ensign flew from her mizzenmast.
On deck, her hands worked quickly, and without chanteys, aware their vessel would receive
questionable welcome if she lingered.

Emien helped the sailors sway out the longboat which would carry Anskiere ashore. Beyond the rail, the
sun threw a blazing reflection upon waters glazed with calm. Emien licked sweat from his lips and felt
strangely chilled. Never had he seen such weather, not in fourteen years of fishing. The sooner the
Storm-warden was offboard the better.

Blocks squealed overhead and the boat struck with a smack, scattering ripples. Emien made fast his
slackened line and glanced toward the companionway just as Anskiere was brought on deck. Two
sorcerers stood guard at his side and fetters still gleamed on his wrists, but there all semblance of
captivity ended. Emien gasped. Anskiere stood newly clad in indigo velvet adorned with gold. He carried
both staff and cloak, and his silver hair lay trimmed neatly against his collar.

Surprised by such finery, Emien knew resentment. "They treat him better than he deserves."

A nearby soldier spat and shook his head. "No, they con-demn him. Anskiere wore those same robes
when Tierl Enneth was destroyed."

Emien blinked perspiration from his lashes. "He looks like a king's son."

The soldier grinned outright. "You didn't know? Heis a king's son."

Unsure if he was being gulled, Emien fell silent, brows puckered into a scowl. If his ignorant upbringing
on Imrill Kand amused people, one day he would find means to end their laughter. Resolved and bitter,
he gripped the taffrail while Anskiere descended the side battens and stepped into the boat. Both
sorcerers went with him. Hooded like vultures under ebony cowls, they settled in the stern seat.

Emien cast off the line, and felt a hand on his back. At his shoulder, Tathagres called out.

"Stormwarden!"

Startled by her voice, Emien turned, still frowning. Her scent enveloped him, and his ears rang with the
fine jingle of gold as she leaned past him over the rail.

"Anskiere, remember the King's will." Tathagres closed her fingers over Emien's wrist in warning.

Below, the oarsmen threaded their looms, and the boat rocked slightly in the glassy calm. At last
Anskiere looked up.

Tathagres' grip tightened. Her nails dug into Emien's flesh. "Lest you be tempted, remember those you
have left in my care."