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

ruined Tierl Enneth? You don't believe the power was her own, do you?"
"Fires, no." The captain fretted uncomfortably and tugged his clothing free. "But I'll certainly have mutiny,
a bloody one, unless you can convince my crew that Anskiere can work no vengeance."

"That should not prove difficult." The sorcerer in red caught the satchel with a veined hand, and in the
doorway Taen shrank from his smile. "An enchanter separated from his staff seldom goes undefended.
Anskiere will not differ." The sorcerer loos-ened the knots of the pouch, upended it, and spilled its
contents with a rustle onto the blanket.

Taen strained for a glimpse of what lay between the men.

"Feathers!" The captain reached out contemptuously, and found his wrist captured in a bony grip.

"Don't touch. Would you ruin us?" Disgustedly, the sorcerer released the captain. "Each of those feathers
is a weather ward, set by Anskiere against need. You look upon enough force to level Imrill Kand,
captain."

The dark sorcerer lifted a slim brown quill from the pile. Taen recognized the wing feather of a
shearwater. She watched with stony eyes as the sorcerer tossed it lightly into the air.

As the feather drifted downward into a spin, it became to the eye a blur ringed suddenly by a halo of
blue-violet light. From its center sprang the sleek, elegant form of the bird itself, wings extended for flight.
Damp salt wind arose from nowhere, tossing the lamp on its hook. Shadows danced crazily.

The red sorcerer clapped a hand to his belt. A dagger flashed in his fist. He struck like a snake. The bird
was wrenched from midair and tumbled limp to the deck, blood jumping in bright beads across the oiled
wood. The bird quivered once, and the breeze died with it.

Taen shivered in the grip of nausea. The red sorcerer wiped the knife on his sleeve while the dark
sorcerer picked another feather from the bed. Before long the hem of his robe hung splattered with
scarlet. A pile of winged corpses grew at his feet, and blood ran with the roll of the ship. At each bird's
death there was a fleeting scent of spring rain, or a touch of mellow summer sun, and more than once the
harsh cold edge of the gales of autumn. At last, sickened beyond tolerance Taen stumbled past the door.
Preoccupied with their slaughter, the men within did not notice.

Beyond the chartroom door, Taen heard the wet bubbly snores of the Constable. The lamp had burned
low. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom. Past the chart table and the Constable's slumped bulk,
Anskiere sat with his head resting on crossed arms. Enchanted fetters shone like coals through tangled
hair, and his robe was dusty and creased.

Taen stepped through the door. At the faint scrape of her lame foot, Anskiere roused, opened eyes flat
as slate, and saw her in the doorway. He beckoned, and the chime of his bonds masked her clumsy run
as she flung herself into his arms.

"The soldiers took Emien, andDacsenwrecked on the reef." Her whisper caught as a sob wrenched her
throat.

"I know, little one." Anskiere held her grief-racked body close.

Taen gripped his sleeve urgently. "Warden, the sorcerers are killing your birds. I saw them."