"Troy Denning - The Harpers 1 - The Parched Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Denning Troy)

ISBN: 1-56076-087-2
TSR, Inc. TSR Ltd.
P.O. Box 756 120 Church End, Cherry Hinton
Lake Geneva, Cambridge CB1 3LB
WI 53147 U.S.A. United Kingdom
 For Barry, who's always been a great brother.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Jon Pickens for burying me beneath a mountain of research material, all of
which proved crucial; Jim Lowder for being so courteous with his scalpel; Lloyd Holden of AKF
Martial Arts in Janesville, WI for recognizing the techniques in the fight scenes; and most
especially Andria Hayday, for not killing me in my sleep when the words wouldn't come.
 One
Ruha woke abruptly, unsure of what had disturbed her languorous nap. The young woman lay next to
her sleeping husband, their bodies touching at the hip and shoulder. She turned to look at his weathered
face. Ajaman had the rough skin and thick mustache of a mature man, but his hairless chest was young,
lean, and muscular. He was the only man Ruha had ever seen undressed.
As the young wife gazed at her husband, her vision suddenly blurred. An instant later, it cleared and the
face of another man appeared in place of Ajaman's. She gasped in astonishment, but did not cry out.
The stranger's visage was unlike any she had ever known. His skin was red and sun-blistered, with a
creamy white underlayer showing through where he had peeled. A black patch covered his right eye, and
his left eye was as blue as the desert sky. Though his fea-tures were drawn and haggard, they were not so
care-worn that he could have been more than twenty-five.
Any other bride would have run screaming from her new home, concluding that her father had married
her to a djinn—but not Ruha. She had been suffering visions since before she could walk, so she recognized
the image for what it was: a mirage from tomorrow. Sometime soon, the stranger would appear. What
would happen then, Ruha could not say, though she knew it would be some mishap or catastrophe. She
lacked the talent to interpret the mi-rages, but nothing good had ever followed one.
Her first vision had been of thousands of butterflies. The butterflies had turned out to be moths, and
within two months every yard of cloth in the tribe was full of holes. Another time, during a terrible drought,
she had seen a vast green meadow to the south of the tribe. Her father, the sheikh, had taken the herds in
search of the fresh pas-turage. After a week of thirsty riding, they had finally found the meadow. It was on
the edge of a contaminated pool, and half of their camels had died from drinking poisoned water.
Not surprisingly, Ruha had come to regard her premoni-tions as more of an affliction than a gift. Without
giving the vision further thought, the young wife shut her eyes tightly and hoped it would pass.
Ajaman stirred beside her. "Is something troubling you, my wife?"
The heat rose to Ruha's cheeks, for being addressed as "wife" gave her a capricious feeling that she
found embar-rassing.
Opening her eyes, she was relieved to see Ajaman in-stead of the one-eyed man. The young bride
smiled and answered, "Nothing we should worry about."
She said nothing of her vision, for she did not want Aja-man to blame her for whatever misfortune the
one-eyed stranger was bringing. Besides, the desert tribes were wary of magic, and if her new husband
suspected her of being a witch, he would cast her from his tent.
Abruptly Ajaman glanced at his nude body, then blushed. He reached for his aba, the loose-fitting robe
of the Bedine tribes, and pulled it over his head. The couple had only been married for two days, and the
bride knew it would be many weeks before they felt completely comfortable to-gether.
Ruha sat up and pulled her own aba over her nakedness, then studied her new khreima with a warm
feeling of satis-faction. The dimly lit tent was nearly empty, for she and her husband had not yet acquired
many possessions. A dozen cushions lay scattered over the ground carpet, her loom and cooking pots rested