"Ann Durand - Flight of the Gryphon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Durand Ann)

"Wa," he said, reaching out his small hand toward it. "Wawa."

"Yes, water, for your bath." Adrella tied off the line and lifted the pail off its hook, all the while juggling
Rorken around her bulging belly.

"Baa baa," he laughed. "Wowon tik baa."

"Yes, Rorken take a bath."

Adrella cooed, kissing her baby lightly on the head. Swinging the pail to her side, she hoisted Rorken
higher on her hip and lumbered off to her shelter, her swollen tummy leading the way. As she turned the
corner toward the harem's quarters and her hosta, a dome-shaped house of clay and sticks, she froze in
her tracks. A tall figure stood next to it dressed in an ulli. She spun awkwardly on her heels and started
back around the corner, but it was too late.

"Adrella!" the Kastak called. Adrella turned to face him, but did not approach. "Come here," he ordered.

Reluctantly, she moved toward him, swaying from side to side over her enormous load of child, bucket,
and belly. The Kastak drummed his fingers on his biston, the small device hooked to his belt that
summoned the Voice. As he motioned to lift it, she picked up her gait, spilling a good portion of the
water as she wobbled toward him. When she reached him, she lowered the pail onto the ground and
wrapped both arms around Rorken. Carefully, she pinned her eyes on the Kastak's feet.
"What is your bidding, Kastak Morchison, greatness be yours?" she asked, addressing him in the manner
of respect that was demanded of Askinadon's wives.

Kastak Morchison curled his lip, sneering down at her from his lofty height of six-feet seven-inches. He
squinted with his tiny, black eyes, which appeared as dark slits in his puffy face. She knew that he hated
her and would have her balancing on top the terrifying post inside the rocsadons' lair while the animals
raged around her, were it not for Askinadon. Morchison had learned her opinion of him when she had
acted out her mockery in front of the other wives, laughing after hours when they thought the kingdom
slept, when they believed the Voice had retired for the night. She had taught the others to speak freely
about Askinadon and his horrid Kastaks in those twilight hours when they assumed no one was listening.
But on this night the Voice had not retired.

She had been imitating the walk and talk of Morchison, strutting with her chest held out, her chin high,
when the words crashed into her head. Adrella, you scorn the Kastak. Come at once to my palace.

The others trembled as Adrella made her way out the door of her hosta where they had all gathered. She
walked down the dirt path, past the rocsadon's high stone corrals where long columns of mist propelled
into the air, and through the great gates into the courtyard of the palace. Askinadon was waiting for her,
his thick arms crossed over his chest, his ulli gleaming in the light of the lanadiks dotting the walls. She
lowered her head in front of him, as was the custom.

"Your bidding is my only desire, God of Parallon and Husband of my Dreams, greatness be yours," she
said, mouthing the requisite words and managing, once again, to conceal her disdain.

"Look at me, Adrella." His voice was soft. She lifted her head in practiced obedience and stared into the
cool, grey eyes of the man who tortured her daily with his perverted will. His face was pale and dry,
etched with lines that crisscrossed over the loose skin of his cheeks. His hair, sparsely distributed, was
graying at the temples. "Adrella. Dear, dear Adrella. You know the rules. No mockery of my Kastaks or