"Raymond E. Feist - Empire Saga 1 - Daughter Of The Empire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

Papewaio inclined his head toward something sprawled by the reflecting pool. 'Dead.'

Mara turned to look, ignoring the discomfort of her injuries. The corpse of the killer lay on one side,
the fingers of one hand trailing in water discoloured with blood. He was short, reed-thin, of almost
delicate build, and clad simply in a black robe and calf-length trousers. His hood and veil had been pulled
aside, revealing a smooth, boyish face marked by a blue tattoo upon his left cheek - a hamoi flower
stylized to six concentric circles of wavy lines. Both hands were dyed red to the wrists. Mara shuddered,
still stinging from the violence of those hands upon her flesh.

Papewaio helped her to her feet. He tossed away the rag, torn from her rent garment, and handed her
the white robe intended for the end of the ceremony. Mara clothed herself, ignoring the stains her injured
hands made upon the delicately embroidered material. At her nod, Papewaio escorted her from the
glade.

Mara followed the path, its familiarity no longer a comfort. The cruel bite of the stranger's cord had
forced her to recognize that her enemies could reach even to the heart of the Acoma estates. The security
of her childhood was forever gone. The dark hedges surrounding the glade now seemed a haven for
assassins, and the shade beneath the wide limbs of the ulo tree carried a chill. Rubbing the bruised and
bloody flesh of her right hand, Mara restrained an impulse to bolt in panic. Though terrified like a thyza
bird at the shadow of a golden killwing as it circles above, she stepped through the ceremonial gate with
some vestige of the decorum expected of the Ruling Lady of a great house.

Nacoya and Keyoke waited just outside, with the estate gardener and two of his assistants. None
spoke but Keyoke, who said only, 'What?'

Papewaio replied with grim brevity. 'As you thought. An assassin waited. Hamoi tong.'

Nacoya extended her arms, gathering Mara into hands that had soothed her hurts since childhood, yet
for the first time Mara found little reassurance. With a voice still croaking from her near strangulation, she
said, 'Hamoi tong, Keyoke?'

'The Red Hands of the Flower Brotherhood, my Lady. Hired murderers of no clan, fanatics who
believe to kill or be killed is to be sanctified by Turakamu, that death is the only prayer the god will hear.
When they accept a commission they vow to kill their victims or die in the attempt.' He paused, while the
gardener made an instinctive sign of protection: the Red God was feared. With a cynical note, Keyoke
observed, 'Yet many in power understand that the Brotherhood will offer their unique prayer only when
the tong has been paid a rich fee.' His voice fell to almost a mutter as he added, 'And the Hamoi are very
accommodating as to whose soul shall offer that prayer to Turakamu.'

'Why had I not been told of these before?'

'They are not part of the normal worship of Turakamu, mistress. It is not the sort of thing fathers
speak of to daughters who are not heirs.' Nacoya's voice implied reprimand.

Though it was now too late for recriminations, Mara said, 'I begin to see what you meant about
needing to discuss many things right away.' Expecting to be led away, Mara began to turn toward her
quarters. But the old woman held her; too shaken to question, Mara obeyed the cue to remain.

Papewaio stepped away from the others, then dropped to one knee in the grass. The shadow of the