"Lynn Flewelling - Nightrunners 03 - Traitor's Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flewelling Lynn)

in the comfort-able rhythms of her life, and faith in Nysander, the wizard who'd been a part of her soul
for two centuries. This damnable war had robbed her of both, and more. Nearly a third of the Oreska
House wizards were dead, centuries of life and learning snatched away. Queen Idrilain's sec-ond consort
and two younger sons had fallen in battle, together with dozens of nobles and countless common
soldiers—sent by blade or disease down to Bilairy's gate.

Magyana's grief was mingled with resent-ment at the disruption of her orderly life. She was a wanderer,
a scholar, a gatherer of wonders and tales. Only reluctantly had she taken Nysander's place at the aging
queen's side.

My poor Nysander.She wiped a wind-smeared tear from her cheek.You would have relished all this,
seen it as a great game to be won.

So here she was, winter-locked in the wilds of southern Mycena, a nation once more bathed in the
blood of two bellicose neighbors. Plenimar stretched greedy talons westward toward Skala's borders
and north to the fertile freeholdings along the Gold Road. This harsh second winter had slowed the
fighting, but as the days now slowly lengthened toward spring, the queen's spies brought daily re-ports of
the unthinkable; their Mycenian allies were considering surrender.

And no wonder,Magyana thought, reaching the outskirts of the camp at last. It had been just five days
since the last battle. These ravaged fields where farmers had once cut sheaves of grain were sown now
with a crueler crop: shredded banners, broken buckles, arrow heads overlooked by scavenging camp
followers, and the oc-casional pitiful scrap of human remains, frozen too hard for even the ravens to peck
out. It would yield a bitter spring harvest with the thaw, one she doubted any of them would be here to
witness, now that things had gone so horribly wrong.

The Plenimarans had surprised them just before dawn. Throwing on her armor, Idrilain had rushed to
rally her troops before Magyana could reach her. One side of the queen's corselet had been left
un-buckled, and during the ensuing battle a Plenimaran arrow found the gap, piercing Idrilain's left lung.
She survived the extraction, but the wound quickly festered. Plenimaran archers dipped their
arrow-heads in their own excrement before a battle.

Since then, a host of drysian healers had exerted their combined skills to keep her alive while the wound
putrefied and fevers melted the flesh from her bones. It was agony, watching Idrilain fight this silent battle,
but she refused to order her own release.

"Not yet. Not as things are," she'd groaned, clutching Magyana's hand as she panted and shook and laid
her plans.

Reaching the queen's great pavilion, Magyana sent up a silent prayer.O Illior, Sakor, Astellus, and
Dalna, now is the hour! Give our queen strength enough to see our ruse through.

A guard lifted the flap for her, and she stepped into the stifling heat beyond.

Huge tapestries suspended from the ridgepoles overhead en-closed the audience chamber, already
crowded with officers and wizards gathered by the queen's summons. Magyana took her place to the left
of the empty throne, then nodded to Thero, her protege and coconspirator, who stood nearby. He
bowed, his calm, aesthetic face betraying nothing.

The tapestries behind the chair parted, and Idrilain entered lean-ing on the arm of her eldest son, Prince