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

"Not any more." Emien bent, pulled a frayed bit of line from the sharpened twist of wire which bound a
wool bale. The strands were stained dark with blood.
The guard gestured impatiently. "Well, search for her, then!"

Emien stumbled into blackness, nostrils revolted by the smell of bilge and the rotted odor of damp and
brandy casks. He tried not to think about the rats. "Taen?"

His call dissolved into silence, overlaid by the bump of oars being threaded overhead. And though he
searched the hold with frantic care, he found no trace of his sister. The guard left reluctantly to inform
Tathagres.

Soldiers were sent to assist. For an hour, the hold resonated with men's curses and the squeal of startled
rats. But they found nothing. Desolate, Emien wiped his brow with a grimy wrist and sat on a sack of
barley flour. Helpless anger overcame him. If harm had come to Taen, the Stormwarden would be made
to pay dearly.

"The girl could not have escaped," said Tathagres clearly from above. "If she's hiding, hunger and thirst
will drive her out in good time. Until then let the vermin keep her company."

Beyond the shops and houses which crowded against the wharves of Cliffhaven, a stair seamed the face
of a rocky, scrub-strewn cliffside. The walls of the Kielmark's fortifica-tions crowned the crest, black
and sheer above the twisted limbs of almond trees. WhileCrow rowed from the outer harbor, Anskiere
climbed the stair.

The bindings had been struck from his wrists, and noon shadow pooled beneath the gold-trimmed hem
of his robe. He used his former staff as a walking stick. The metal tip clinked sourly against risers so
ancient that grasses had pried footholds between the cracked marble. Summer's sun had bleached their
jointed stems pale as the bones of fairy folk; and like bones, they crunched under the bootsoles of the
two sorcerers sent as escorts.

"You will ask directly for audience with the Kielmark," reminded the one on the Storm warden's left.

Anskiere said nothing. Except for the rasp of crickets, the hillside seemed deserted and the town
beneath lay dormant. Yet none were deceived by the stillness. Renowned for vigi-lance, the Kielmark's
guards had surely noticed them the mo-ment Crow's longboat reached shore; as strangers, their presence
would be challenged.

Anskiere paused on the landing below the gate, staff hooked in the crook of his elbow. The cloak on his
forearm hung without a ripple in the still air.

"Well?" The sorcerer on his right gestured impatiently. "Move on."

But Anskiere refused to be hurried. That moment, the rocks beside the stair seemed to erupt with
movement, and the three found themselves surrounded by armed men with spears held leveled in a hostile
ring.

"State your business," said the largest soldier briskly. His tanned body was clad in little but leather
armor. He carried no device. Only the well-kept steel of his buckles and blade, and the alert edge to his
voice, bespoke disciplined authority.