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

The Lady of the Acoma. Like a cold knife plunged into the pit of her stomach, the words cut through
Mara's soul. That one sentence forever changed her life. Her mind rebelled, screaming denial, but she
willed herself to remain calm. Never would she shame her ancestors by a public display of grief. She
controlled her voice as she slowly rose to her feet. 'I am here, Keyoke.'

As one, the priests and priestesses watched the High Father Superior cross to stand before Mara.
The embroidered symbols on his robes of office flashed fitfully as he beckoned to a priestess, who
hastened to his side. Then he looked into Mara's eyes and read the contained pain hidden there.
'Daughter, it is clear Our Mistress of Wisdom has ordained another path for you. Go with her love and in
her grace, Lady of the Acoma.' He bowed slightly.

Mara returned his bow, then surrendered her head covering to the priestess. Oblivious to Ura's sigh of
envy, she turned at last to face the bearer of those tidings which had changed her life.

Just past the curtain, Keyoke, Force Commander of the Acoma, regarded his mistress with weary
eyes. He was a battle-scarred old warrior, erect and proud despite forty years of loyal service. He stood
poised to step to the girl's side, provide a steadying arm, perhaps even shield her from public view should
the strain prove too much.

Poor, ever-loyal Keyoke, Mara thought. This announcement had not come easily for him either. She
would not disappoint him by shaming her family. Faced with tragedy, she maintained the manner and
dignity required of the Lady of a great house.

Keyoke bowed as his mistress approached. Behind him stood the tall and taciturn Papewaio, his face
as always an unreadable mask. The strongest warrior in the Acoma retinue, he served as both companion
and body servant to Keyoke. He bowed and held aside the curtain for Mara as she swept past.

Mara heard both fall into step, one on each side, Papewaio one pace behind, correct in form to the
last detail. Without words she led them from the inner temple, under the awning that covered the garden
court separating the inner and outer temples. They entered the outer temple, passing between giant
sandstone columns that rose to the ceiling. Down a long hall they marched, past magnificent frescos
depicting tales of the goddess Lash-ima. Desperately attempting to divert the pain that threatened to
overwhelm her, Mara remembered the story each picture represented: how the goddess outwitted
Turak-amu, the Red God, for the life of a child; how she stayed the wrath of Emperor Inchonlonganbula,
saving the city of Migran from obliteration; how she taught the first scholar the secret of writing. Mara
closed her eyes as they passed her favourite: how, disguised as a crone, Lashima decided the issue
between the farmer and his wife. Mara turned her eyes from these images, for they belonged to a life now
denied her.

All too soon she reached the outer doors. She paused a moment at the top of the worn marble stairs.
The courtyard below held a half company of guards in the bright green armour of the Acoma. Several
showed freshly bandaged wounds, but all came to attention and saluted, fist over heart, as their Lady
came into view. Mara swallowed fear: if wounded soldiers stood escort duty, the fighting must have been
brutal indeed. Many brave warriors had died. That the Acoma must show such a sign of weakness made
Mara's cheeks burn with anger. Grateful for the temple robe that hid the shaking in her knees, she
descended the steps. A litter awaited her at the bottom. A dozen slaves stood silently by until the Lady of
the Acoma settled inside. Then Papewaio and Keyoke assumed position, one on each side. On
Keyoke's command, the slaves grasped the poles and lifted the litter on to sweating shoulders. Veiled by
the light, embroidered curtain on either side of the litter, Mara sat stiffly as the soldiers formed up before
and after their mistress.