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

 "Hush, child. They've not taken the one that matters most." Anskiere flicked a tear from the girl's chin.
"Can I trust her to your care?"

Taen nodded. She watched gravely as the Stormwarden made a rip in the seam of his hood lining. He
drew forth a tawny feather barred with black and laid it in her palm.

The girl turned the quill over in her hands. The shape was thin, keen as a knife, and the markings
unfamiliar. Anskiere touched her shoulder. Reluctantly she looked up.

"Taen, listen carefully. Go on deck and loose the feather on the wind."

The girl nodded. "On the wind," she repeated, and started at the sudden tramp of feet beyond the door.
Fast as a rat, she scuttled into the shadow of the chart table. The Constable snored on above her head,
oblivious.

Men entered; the captain and both sorcerers. Blood-streaked hands seized Anskiere and hauled him
upright, leaving Taen with a view of his feet.

"Where is it?" The red sorcerer's voice was shrill. Anskiere's reply held arctic calm. "Be specific,
Hearvia." Somebody slapped him.

The black sorcerer advanced. His robe left smears on the deck. "You have a stormfalcon among your
collection, yes? It was not in the satchel."

"You'll not find her."

"Won't we?" The black sorcerer laughed. Taen shivered with gooseflesh at the sound, and gripped the
feather tightly against her chest.

"Search him."

Cloth tore and Anskiere staggered. Taen cowered against the Constable's boots as the sorcerers ripped
Anskiere's cloak and robe to rags. Near the table's edge, mangled wool fell to the deck, marked across
with bloody fingerprints.

"It isn't on him," said the captain anxiously. "What shall I tell the crew?"

The red sorcerer whirled crossly. "Tell them nothing, fool!" Taen heard a squeal Of hinges as he yanked
open the chart room door. "Confine the Stormwarden under guard, and keep him from the boy."

The stamp of feet dwindled down the passage, underscored by the glassy clink of Anskiere's fetters.
Taen shivered with the aftermath of terror, and against her, the Constable twitched like a dog in his sleep.
The smell of sweat and spilled wine, and the impact of all she had witnessed, suddenly wrung Taen with
dizziness. She left the shelter of the table and bolted through the open door. With the feather clamped in
whitened fingers, she turned starboard, clumsily dragging her twisted foot up the companionway which
led to the quarterdeck.

A sailor lounged topside, one elbow hooked over the bin-nacle. Taen saw his silhouette against the
spoked curve of the wheel, and dodged just as the sailor spotted her.