"Sara Douglass - Redemption 1 - Sinner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Douglass Sara)

mother's light grey eyes. Even though he was now in early middle-age, Zared
was as agile as most young men, and could still best any swordsman in the
country. He had been bred in an age of war, and his father had spent many
years training him in the arts of war, although for what, Zared was not sure. For
forty years, since Axis had finally bested Gorgrael, Tencendor had lain peaceful
and largely prosperous in the sun. Axis had ruled well and wisely - a glib enough
statement, but true. And since, nine years ago, Axis had handed over control of
Tencendor to his eldest son, Caelum had continued to lead Tencendor with the
integrity that was the hallmark of the House of the Stars. And yet… and yet
Zared would rest the easier once Caelum had proved his worth in true crisis.
His escort now directly behind him, Zared rode his horse through the gates in
the town walls, returning the salutes of the guards standing to either side. For an
instant the walls blocked out the noon-day sun and, as their shadow settled over
Zared, so his mind turned to the one shadow in his own life - Askam.
He drove the thought from his mind almost as soon as it had surfaced,
reining back his horse to a walk in the crowded streets. It was too warm a day to
let thoughts of Askam cloud it over.
Zared's path back to his palace on the hill overlooking the town was slowed,
not only by the crowds, but by the individuals who called out greetings and,
occasionally, stopped him for a quick word. Zared had never been a distant
prince, not only holding open court in his palace every Thursday afternoon when
he was in residence so that any citizen of the North had the chance to gain his
ear, but making sure that he did not ride the streets of Severin so encased by
retainers that all his people ever saw of him was a brief glimpse of a linen shirt
or glittering sword hilt.
Now a man - a carpenter, Zared thought, by the tools at his belt - called out
a cheerful greeting in unmistakable southern brogue. Zared grinned widely as he
nodded back at him. That man was from Romsdale. Yet another who had chosen
Zared over Askam.
It cheered Zared to think that so many skilled craftsmen and farmers chose
to relocate to the North, but at the same time it concerned him. The tension
between himself and Askam was a decade old, and growing stronger with each
passing year. Every carpenter, every brickworker, every field-hand who moved
north deepened the tension just that fraction more.
Ah! There was Askam again, intruding on his thoughts! Zared's face lost its
humour, and he pushed as quickly as was polite through the remaining streets to
reach his palace. There, after a few words to the captain of the guard and a
smile of thanks for his escort, Zared handed the reins of his horse over to a
stableboy and hurried inside.
A bath and a meal later, Zared felt more refreshed. As his personal
manservant cleared his table, Zared took a glass of wine and wandered into the
reception gallery of his residence. His home was a palace in name only, a term
designated by his subjects who somehow thought that as a prince he ought to
live in a palace. Built initially by Rivkah and Magariz, the house was a roomy,
elegant mansion-*that spread over the hill which rose on the northern borders of
the town. When Zared was twenty-seven he had taken a wife, Isabeau, sister of
Earl Herme of Avonsdale, and had added on a light and airy southern wing that
together they'd planned to fill with the laughter of their children.
Zared's steps slowed at the first portrait that lined the gallery. Isabeau. Her
dark red hair cascaded about her shoulders, her mouth curled in secret laughter,