"Janrae Frank - Journey of Sacred King 2 - Sins of the Mother" - читать интересную книгу автора (Frank Janrae)

dangled above a handful of smooth stones. She wore a dagger at her waist and,
although she had had some recent training, her instinctual reaction was still to reach
for her sling. It was the only weapon she had known since childhood and felt entirely
comfortable with. She always had a pocketful of her lucky river stones.

The blue light faded, leaving two people huddling in the middle of the floor in front
of her: a mon cradling a bloody, grievously wounded nude mon in his arms. Becca
was already moving before the mon's face registered in her mind and she recognized
Josh's deeply seamed, weatherworn face and abraded complexion framed by a
heavy, gray-streaked, brown beard. Becca went to her knees beside him, searching
his face for clues to what had happened and who the mon was.

"Help her," Josh said, his voice strained with weeping. "Please, Becca."

"Of course." The tavern master brushed back the long tangle of sweat-drenched,
blood-crusted hair from the mon's battered face and a scream rose in her throat
before she could stop it. "Oh My Gods! Aejys!"

Zacham dropped the broom with a clatter, racing to her side. The scullery boy
crouched at her elbow, staring through the crook of her arm. "Ohhhhh."

Becca glanced at Zacham and bent forward, trying to block his view of Aejys by
covering their liege-lord with her body and elbowed the boy back. "Get away,
Zacham. You don't need to see this."

The kitchen staff poured into the common room, clustering about them. An irritating
cacophony of shocked questions rose around Becca. "Get out, all of you!" Becca
shouted before she thought, then recovered enough to start issuing orders, "Zacham,
Molly, wait. And Ash. The rest of you get back to work. Zacham, roust Omer and
Raim. I'll need them to help get her upstairs. Ash get the healer fast. Molly, fetch a
sheet and a blanket. We'll wrap her in the sheet first so no fibers from the blanket get
in her wounds."

As she straightened, a soft sob just behind Becca's shoulder, caused the tavern
master to swivel on her knees. A small girl of seven stood there – obviously
frightened – worried tears running down her round cheeks.
 "She'll be all right, Sami," Becca said, not really certain of anything. "Get hold of
yourself. Go sit out front and tell the regulars we'll be opening a bit late, to be
patient. But don't tell them why. This is very important. Don't tell them why. Just say
'opening late' nothing more. Can you do it?"

The little girl wiped her tears away with the back of a grubby hand, nodding.

"Good." Giving them things to do would keep down their talk and brooding on
what they had just seen.

As they departed, Becca turned to Josh. "What happened? Where are the others?"

"Rowanslea," Josh said, adding quickly. "They're okay." The sot reeked of
whiskey, a nasty sour smell: He had consumed so much that it was sweating through