"Rosenberg,.Joel.-.Guardians.Of.The.Flame.06.&.07.-.To.Home.And.Ehvenor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

morning, and the patch fit loosely over her empty left eye socket. She rubbed at the scar that snaked
around her good eye, then tossed her head to clear her bangs from her eyes—well,eye. Tennetty was
getting sloppy, maybe; in the old days, she wouldn't have let her bangs grow that long.
The old days.The trouble with old people is that they always talk about the old days like they were the
good days. I don't buy it. Maybe because my memory is too good—there were too many days out on
the road, sleeping on rocks, never sleeping fully, because there's always trouble ahead. Hell, we were
looking for trouble, then. Part of the plan.
"So?" Jason said. "What are you up to this morning?"
"I've got a date with a bow and some rabbits, maybe a deer," I said. Or maybe not. More likely, my
date was with the limb of an oak tree. No, not to hang from it—to put some arrows into it.
Tennetty nodded judiciously. "You and the dwarf?"
I shouldn't have been surprised. Even after twenty years, Tennetty still hadn't noticed that Ahira didn't
like to go hunting. Not for food, unless absolutely necessary; not for sport, ever.
"Not his cup of tea. Ahira's still asleep."
There had been many late hours of late, and the sun wasn't quite up. I didn't blame it. The time before
dawn is when I like to start staggering toward a bed to sleep in, not staggering out of it. It was
uncharacteristic of me to be awake at this hour, but one thing I learned a long time ago is to do things that
are uncharacteristic—keeps you young, maybe, and alive, sometimes.
Or maybe I'm just kidding myself. I've never been good at consistency. Maybe I was up because of the
damn dreams, and because of Kirah.
I poured myself another cup of tea. I don't know what U'len was putting in the mix, but it had a nice
nutty smell that I had gotten very fond of. Not the sort of thing I'd dare have on the road—you can smell
it in the sweat for a day or so; when you're on the road, eat what the locals eat, or keep it bland—but
very nice.
Jason eyed me quizzically over his mug. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Just fine," I said, easily. Lying always comes easy to me. I had been having a lot of trouble sleeping of
late. Not the only kind of trouble. After several years of getting better, Kirah was getting worse. Some
things even time doesn't cure. Some things just lie beneath the surface and fester.
Damn it all. It wasn't my fault.
Back before I met her, before Karl and I freed her, Kirah had been ill-used. One of her owners was
worse than simply brutal, and while there were no scars on her body—believe me; in happier days, we
explored that mattervery thoroughly—the scars on her mind had festered over the years.
A miracle was needed, and I didn't have one handy.
We Other Siders have seemed to work wonders at times, but it's only a matter of seeming to—we've
just used the skills we brought with us, or acquired in the transition. Of the original seven of us, I was an
ag major; Karl a dilettante; James Michael Finnegan a computer science major; Andrea, English; Doria,

home ec; Louis Riccetti, engineering; the late Jason Parker (R.I.P.; he didn't make it through even
twenty-four hours on this side), history.
The real treatment for what was ailing Kirah wasn't available on This Side and whether it was available
on the Other Side was debatable, if you like debating useless questions. Psychotherapy can help, but it
can't work miracles.
The real treatment for what was ailingme could probably, as of last night, be found two rooms down
from Kirah's and mine—in the bed of Jason's adopted sister, Aeia. Assuming, of course, that Aeia
wanted to pick up where we left off.
Alternately, it was time to go out on the road.
I didn't like either option much. Resuming my relationship with Aeia would be dangerous, and it made
sense to stay put in Jason's new barony for the time being, keeping in shape, waiting to hear some word
about Mikyn.
I also didn't like the idea of Bren, Baron Adahan being under the same roof, whether he really was there