"Briggs, Patricia - Sianim 3 - When Demons Walk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Briggs Patricia)

to the beach outside. Far out on the sands she could see the white line of the returning sea.

The sand was soft with water and sucked at her fleeing feet, causing her to stumble and slow. The
short distance to the ladder seemed to stretch forever and the sands began to vibrate. By the time she’d
reached the cliff below the ladder she could hear the roar of the ocean.

The cliffside was slick with moisture and without the thread of magic that kept her fingers from
slipping off the rocks she would never have reached the ladder.

“Magic,” she gasped as her fingers closed over the bottom rung of the ladder, “—and luck to make
up for lack of wits—I hope.”

But there was no time to waste. If the wall of water hit while she was still on the ladder she would be
crushed against the rocks. The ladder shook with the force of the returning water and she increased her
efforts, ignoring the burning in the muscles of her arms and thighs.

The wind hit first, battering her against the hard rock cliff, and she spared a glance for the racing wall
of water. As tall as the cliff she climbed, the foaming white mass covered the sands faster than a racing
horse, the drumming of the surf echoing the beat of her heart. She couldn’t help the wide grin that twisted
her mouth as she fought to climb beyond the waves reach. The exhilaration of her race for survival helped
add speed to her ascent.

Heart pounding, she threw herself on the top of the low cliff where her ladder attached, then turned
to watch the tremendous waves that swept across the last few yards of sand. The noise was incredible,
so strong that she could feel it thrumming in her chest, and she breathed in deeply to savor the feeling.

She jumped back involuntarily as the ocean crashed into the cliff with a hollow boom that shook the
ground and sent spray high into the air. Laughing, she ducked her head to protect her eyes, and the salt
water showered harmlessly onto her hair and shoulders as the waves retreated and pounded back again.

Magic poured over her, making her heart sing with the joy of it. It was shaped and called by the
ocean itself, and no human mage could use its power to weave spells—but she could feel it and revel in
its glory.

She wasn’t certain what made her turn away from the waves, but she froze when she saw that
someone else was watching the water hit the cliffs. He hadn’t seen her where she crouched on her hidden
ledge below him. The crashing waves were deafening, drowning any sound she had made. If she stayed
where she was she could probably keep him from noticing her at all. But the water’s magic made her
reckless. She slid further toward the edge of her ledge, allowing herself to get a better look at the rider
who dared Purgatory at night to see the Spirit Tide.

Unlike Sham, the man was in the open, clearly visible in the silver moonlight. A Cybellian warrior, she
thought, outfitted with surcoat, sword, and war horse.

For a disorienting instant terror choked her as she stared at him from the shadows, seeing not a lone
man but the bloody warriors who had taken the Castle. The past was too close to her this night. She
swallowed the lump in her throat and ran her hands across various weapons hidden on her person. Thus
reassured, she took a closer look at him.

The chainmail shirt that extended past his surcoat at wrists and throat was of the highest quality, the