"McKenna,.Juliet.E.-.Einarinn.03.-.Gambler's.Fortune" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

'You always give peasants something to look at while you're busy with your other hand, don't you?' I pulled my gaudy ring out and waved it at Sorgrad. 'Planir keeps everyone trying to follow his fancy footwork while Usara here does the business, no one any the wiser.'
The brothers looked at the mage with the first faint stirring of respect.
'That's probably about right,' Usara nodded, neck less stiff.
'So now we can all be friends. Are you two going to help out or not?' I demanded briskly.
'Gren looked at Sorgrad, who swung his highly polished boots up into the window seat. 'I think we might come along if you're going to the Great Forest for a while. Even Niello had heard talk about the Draximal pay-chest and he barely listens to anything beyond people admiring his wonderful performances.'
'And if your retainer that keeps you in this kind of style, we could just about suffer it along with you.' 'Gren reached for a plump bottled cherry, dripping juice staining the snowy cloth.
'Good.' I saw a degree of relief on Usara's face that reminded me the wizard wasn't stupid. Good, indeed; if he knew his own limitations, he'd be less likely to drop us all in some privy pit.
A clangour of bells outside was echoed within by an elegant silver timepiece on the mantel. The narrow pointer halted on its progress down the engraved scale, newly turned for the longer days after Equinox. A costly piece, I noted absently, separate faces for every season, not just different scales on the same one.
'Third chime of the morning?' 'Gren looked up from the cherries with dismay.
'Is there some problem?' Caught unawares, Usara betrayed some consternation.
'Second day of a fair is always the horse races.'
'Gren grabbed his cloak. 'If I'm going to turn some coin, I need to see the beasts showing their paces.'
Usara frowned. 'Isn't that a waste of time? Surely we shouldЃE
'Horse racing is never a waste of time, as far as 'Gren's concerned.' I caught Usara's attention with a stern look. 'I don't know how you wizards do things, but when we work together, we all make time for each other's priorities.'
'You go on,' Sorgrad spoke up from the window seat. 'Me and Livak need to talk.'
I dismissed Usara with a gesture. 'Go with him. We'll catch you up.'
'Gren was waiting impatiently by the stairs, so after a last, faintly suspicious look at me, the wizard found his fur-trimmed cloak and followed.
'Do you think they can keep out of trouble, the pair of them?' I wondered aloud.
'If we don't give them too long.' Sorgrad came to join me at the table. 'So, where's this book of yours?'
I went to my bedchamber and took the closely wrapped bundle from the bottom of my travelling bag. Laying it on the table, careful to avoid any spills, I untied the silken cord securing the layers of linen. Sorgrad ran a delicate finger over the embossed leather covering the boards of the cover, the original creamy hide yellowed by time. I opened the book carefully, using fingertips to turn the pages, their edges dark with use and age. The neat script was faded and brown but the illustrations down each margin and bordering top and bottom were bright and vibrant with colour, even hints of gold leaf defying nigh on twenty-five generations. Animal heads peered from precise leaves and hedgerows, birds soared above delicate vistas and small figures worked diligently at their trades in little oval panels.
'It's a beautiful thing,' remarked Sorgrad absently. He peered at the sweeping script and frowned. 'Cursed hard to read though, even if it wasn't so faded. You want Charoleia for this; she's the best I know for the Old High Tormalin.'
I slid a sheet of parchment over the tablecloth, which bore Charoleia's distinctive Lescari hand in new, black ink. 'That's why we came by way of Relshaz. I wanted a second opinion, given the scholars were apt to bicker over who had the right of it.'
Sorgrad laughed. 'What about these wizards? They're supposed to have powers over all the elements. Couldn't they do anything to bring up the writing more clearly?'
'According to Casuel, he had far more important things to
do, beyond telling me the ink had faded because it was made with oak gall and iron, that is.'
Sorgrad looked up at the sarcasm in my tone. 'He sounds like a real prize.'
I didn't want to discuss Casuel. 'Can you read any of this?' I turned the pages carefully to a leaf decorated with a mountain peak, the angular script below a harsh contrast to the smooth regularity of the Tormalin.
Sorgrad bent over it. 'I can't read it all but I can make out enough to recognise the tale. It's the saga of Misaen and the wyrms. I can tell you the version I know.'
'I want to read that version.' I tapped the book. 'The Tormalin songs in there differ quite a lot from the ones I learned as a child. Curiosity gets Amit into the Empress's bedchamber all the same but he doesn't end up hanged, he makes himself invisible and sneaks out again.'
'Can't Planir's wizards do that?' Sorgrad leaned back in his seat. 'What's to say that's aetheric magic?'
'That's what Casuel said.' I shook my head.
'I presume something besides determination to prove him wrong brought you here?' asked Sorgrad dryly.
'The colonists tell us it was aetheric magic held the Empire together.' I turned to the book's preface. 'Look here; Nemith the Wily was six generations before Nemith the Last. No one had ever heard of elemental magic, the kind that Planir's wizards use. That only emerged after the Chaos and anyway, if there's magic in the Forest or the Mountain songs, it has to be Artifice, surely? No mage-born from either race has ever come to Hadrumal.'
Sorgrad grunted. 'If we're coming in with you, what's our next step?' he demanded abruptly.
'I wanted to be sure of you two before I started planning. The first thing to decide is whether we go to the Forest first or the mountains.' I knew what I intended but wasn't about to ride roughshod over Sorgrad this early on.
'We start with the Forest, that's obvious,' he replied firmly. 'Once the fair ends, there'll be plenty of people going out along
the western high road, heading through the Forest for Solura or back to villages along the edge of the wild wood. We can hook up with someone who knows where to find a band of the Folk at this time of year.'
'I was thinking of asking a Forest minstrel who's come in for the fair,' I suggested. 'For a start, someone like that might be able to read the songs for us and then, if they vouch for us, we'll get more co-operation once we're in the wildwood.'
Sorgrad pursed his lips. 'Assuming you find someone with ancient lore, why should they trust you with hidden secrets?'
'How many men won't trust me, if I put my mind to charming them?' I gazed at him with wide-open eyes.
'Me, for one,' he said tartly.
'Apart from you? No, it's a good question. I was thinking it might be easier if I had some lore to trade.' The best way to get Sorgrad to do what I want is to show him a logical reason. 'Isn't it better to try the uplands first? You're Mountain blood so anyone with something to tell will be more likely to speak to you. We take what we learn down to the Forest after that.' I tried to read his mood; Sorgrad's one of the few people who ever takes my coin over a game of Raven.
'You can play that rune reversed,' countered Sorgrad. 'You're Forest blood, that's your introduction to the Folk.'
'Half-blood,' I reminded him, 'born and raised outside the Forest as well. I barely even speak the tongue.' Besides, I had just about made up my mind that the benefits of success to Ryshad and me outweighed the hazards of claiming kinship with my long lost father but I still wasn't about to risk it, if I could find another way of hitting my mark. 'You're full blood and Mountain bred and we can reach the mountains sooner than the wildwoods, if we go north from here.'
Sorgrad looked at me for a long moment, his bright blue eyes as unrevealing as the surface of a sunlit lake. He took a stick of charcoal in a silver holder from a pocket and uncapped it, turning Charoleia's parchment over. 'Yes, the mountains are closer to the north, but do you want to walk into endless rows over mining rights and grazing? You've got Wrede over
here, Tanoker, Dunsel and then Grynth.' He sketched lightly as he spoke. 'When were you last up this way? Not since that business with Cordainer? A lot's happened since to leave ill feeling brewing on all sides, ready to bubble right up into trouble. The lowlanders are pushing further into the foothills each season, with wool prices going so high in the south. The smithing guilds from Wrede are taking over any mine they can claim a sniff of a title to and sinking new shafts all over. If the locals object, the liverymen hire ruffians out of the gutters to break heads and shut mouths.'
'That's what working for wizards does for you,' I muttered, annoyed. 'Messing around with quests and mysteries, you lose track of what's really important. How bad is it?'
Sorgrad shrugged. 'Worse than any time in the last ten years, maybe fifteen. There's always been bad dealing up that way, on both sides. Add in the old rows over who exactly owns what in the Ferring Gap and the usual quarrels over just where Mandarkin territory starts and ends. I wouldn't travel up there without hired swords at my back. Any Mountain Man up there will most likely throw rocks at you before you can ask the way to the nearest well.'
I looked doubtfully at his precise map. 'Are we going to have to go right over to the east? I know the Gidestans aim to keep things peaceable but it's a cursed long hike on lousy roads. And it'll take us just about as far from the Forest as it's possible to get!'
'We should try the mountains between Solura and Mandarkin.' Sorgrad drew in the westerly road and the edge of the Great Forest. 'The Solurans leave the Mountain Men alone, keeping them sweet so any Mandarkin thrust south runs backwards off a cliff edge, helped along by an axe. West of the Ferring Gap, the Mountain Men keep pretty much to themselves. If anyone has old lore, they'll be your best bet. Anyatimm in Gidesta have pretty much abandoned the old ways, marrying out and settling in the villages with the lowlanders.'