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

horse, it was hard to judge his height, but he was built like a bull; shoulders proportionally wide and thick
with muscle. Even his hands were sturdy, one of his fingers larger than two of hers. As with his horse, the
moonless night hid the true color of his hair, but she’d heard that it was dark brown—like that of most
Cybellians. His features, mouth, nose and jaw were as broad as his body.

* * *

staring at the roiling water, kerim wondered at his openness with this Southwood boy who was so
visibly unimpressed with the Reeve of Southwood. He hadn’t conversed with anyone this freely since he
gave up soldiering and took over the rule of Southwood for the prophet. The only one who dared to
chastise him as freely as this boy was his mother, and the boy lacked her malice—though Kerim hadn’t
missed the lad’s initial motion toward the armsheath. He hadn’t missed the aristocratic accent the boy
spoke with either, and wondered which of the Southwood noblemen had a son wandering about
Purgatory in the night.

The novelty of the conversation distracted him momentarily from the familiar cramping of the muscles
in his lower back. Soon, he feared, he would have to give up riding altogether. Scorch was becoming
confused by the frequent, awkward shifting of his rider’s weight.

The Leopard turned back from the sea, but the boy was gone. Kerim was left alone with an enemy
that he feared more than all the other foes he had ever battled; he knew of no way to fight the debilitating
cramps in his back or the more disturbing numbness that was creeping up from his feet.

* * *

sham trotted through the narrow streets briskly to keep warm. The cottage she’d found for the Old
Man was near the fringes of Purgatory in an area where the city guardsmen still ventured. It was old and
small, roughly cobbled together, but it served to keep out the rain and occasional snow.

She didn’t live there with him, although she had used her ill-gotten gains to buy the house. The
Whisper kept him safe with their protection, and Sham was well known as a thief among the Purgatory
guards. Her presence would have caused them to disturb the Old Man’s hard-won peace, so she only
visited him now and again.

The Old Man accepted that, just as he accepted her chosen work. Occupations in Purgatory were
limited and tended to shorten lives. Good thieves lived longer than whores or gang members.


Sham dropped to a walk, as the lack of refuse in the streets signaled her nearness to the Old Man’s
cottage. She didn’t want to come in out of breath—the Old Man worried if he thought she’d been
eluding pursuit.

It was the extra sensitivity necessary to survive in Purgatory that first alerted her that there was
something wrong. The street the Old Man lived on was empty of all the little shadowy activities that
characterized even the better areas. Something had caused the tough little denizens to scuttle back to
their holes.

Two

Sham began to run when she saw the door of the Old Man’s cottage lying broken on the dirty