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

fleet from ruin would meekly surrender his powers. Anskiere stayed motion-less, arms outstretched. He
did not look like a murderer. All of Imrill Kand had trusted and loved him. Their betrayal was ugly to
watch.

The Constable nodded. "Take him."

Men at arms closed at his command, pinioning the accused's shoulders with mailed fists. Three
black-robed sorcerers rose from the dais, one to shackle the offered wrists with fetters woven of
enchantment. The others fashioned a net of wardspells to bind Anskiere's mastery of wind, wave and
weather, and sensing security in his helplessness, the crowd roused slug-gishly to anger. As people
surged toward the dais, the foot lancers squared off and formed a cordon, jostled by aggressive hands.
Anskiere spoke once, mildly. One of the men at arms struck him. His hood fell back, spilling silver hair.
When he lifted his face, blood ran from his mouth.

"Kill the murderer!" someone shouted. The mob howled approval. Kicked, cuffed, and shoved until he
stumbled, An-skiere was herded across the square. Thick as swarming insects, the King's Guard bundled
him away from the crowd, across the fishers' wharf, and onto the decks of their ship. His light head soon
vanished into the depths of the hold.

The crowd screamed and stamped, and dust eddied. Striped with shadow cast by a damp fish net,
Emien bent and shook the shoulder of a small girl who lay weeping in the dirt. "Taen, please."

The child tossed back black hair, her cheeks lined with tracks of tears. "Why did they take him? Why?"

"He killed people. Taen, get up. Crying won't help." Emien caught his sister's hand and tugged. "You'll
be kicked or stepped on if you stay here."

Taen shook her head. "Stormwardensaved lives. He saved me." She curled wet fingers tightly around
her brother's wrist and pulled herself awkwardly to her feet. With one ankle twisted beyond all help of a
healer's skills, she limped piteously. "The fat man lied."

Emien frowned, sickened by the child's naivete. "Did An-skiere lie also? Hesaid he killed people. Could
you count the mackerel inDacsen's hold yesterday? That many died, Taen."

The child's mouth puckered. She refused to answer.

Her brother sighed, lifted her into his arms, and pressed through the villagers who jammed the square.
Taen was un-likely to accept the sorcerer's act as evil. Anskiere had stilled the worst gale in memory to
bring a healer from the mainland when an accident with a loading winch had crushed her leg. Since that
hour, the girl had idolized him. The Stormwarden had visited often during her convalescence, a still, tall
presence at her bedside. Taen had done little but hold his hand. Uncom-fortably Emien recalled his
uncle's embarrassed words of grat-itude, and the long, tortuous hikes across the island with the fish and
the firewood they could not spare. But his mother had insisted, though the Stormwarden had asked for
nothing.

A sharp kick caught Emien squarely in the kneecap. The past forgotten, he gasped, bent and yelled
through lips whitened with pain. "Taen!"

Despite his reprimand, his sister squirmed free of his hold and darted into the crowd. Emien swore.
When Taen wished, she could move like a rabbit. Angrily he pursued, but the closely packed bodies