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

Anskiere answered calmly. "Your weapons are not needed. I wish only words with the Kielmark."
 The guard captain studied the Stormwarden with unfriend-liness, but he lowered his spear. "By what
right do you claim audience, stranger? The Kielmark dislikes intruders. Why should he honor you?"

Before Anskiere could reply, one of the sorcerers pushed forward. As one the weapons lifted to his
chest.

"Slowly," the captain warned. "Your life is cheap here."

Livid under his hood, the sorcerer placed a finger upon the steel edge closest to his throat. "Take care.
Do you know whom you threaten? You point your toys at Anskiere of Elrinfaer, once Stormwarden at
Tierl Enneth."

The captain sucked in his breath. Sudden sweat spangled his knuckles, and his bearded face went a
shade paler.

Anskiere smiled ruefully. "To me, your weapon is no toy. I bleed as readily as any other man."

The captain withdrew his spear, jabbed the butt ringingly onto stone. "Are you..." He jerked his head at
the elaborate gold borders which patterned the blue robe at cuffs and hem, eyes narrowed with wariness.

"I am Anskiere, once of Elrinfaer, come to speak with your master. Will you tell him?"

The captain turned on his heel without another word. Hedged by skeptical men at arms, the two
sorcerers in black exchanged quiet sighs of relief. It seemed Anskiere intended to see the Kielmark
willingly. Even with his arcane powers bound and the children from Imrill Kand as hostage, the
Stormwarden made an unpredictable charge. The mortal strength he still possessed could yet make their
task difficult.

The sorcerers waited nervously in the heat while the looped metal at the head of the staff cast angular
lines of shadow across the Stormwarden's face. They watched as he stared at the horizon, and his very
stillness fueled their unease.

"The weather doesn't seem to bother him," one sorcerer whispered to his colleague in the language of
their craft. "He almost seems part of it."

"Impossible." The other blotted his brow with his sleeve. "He can originate nothing with a spent staff, and
the major bindings hold."

"Stormfalcon..."

"Nonsense. She never returned."

A spear flashed in the nervous grip of a guard, checking the discussion abruptly. The tense interval which
followed passed uninterrupted until the captain's return.

He emerged in haste from the gatehouse, whitened beneath his tan and dripping sweat. "Put up your
weapons."