"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 1 - Black Sun Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

faith tamed the wild fae that flowed about their feet, sending it out again laden
with calmness, serenity, and hope. Damien stared at it, awed and amazed, and
thought, Here, in this wild place, the Dream is alive. A core of order, making
civilization possible. If only it could have been managed on a broader scale . . .
Her light touch on his sleeve reminded him of where he was and who he was
with, and he nodded.
Later.
She ordered food for both of them. Local delicacies, she said. He decided not
to ask what they’d looked like when they were alive. But despite his misgivings
he found them delicious, and the thick, sweet ale that was Jaggonath’s specialty
was a welcome change after months of dried rations and water.
They talked. He told her stories, in payment for the map, embroidering upon
his true adventures until her gentle smile warned him that he bordered on
genuine dishonesty. And gave her real news, in a more sober vein. Five ships
wrecked on the Ganji cliffs, a diplomat from the Wetlands lost in the tragedy.
Summer storms from out of the desert, as if the sandlands themselves would
claim new territory. Tsunami. Earthquakes. Politics. She was interested in
everything, no matter how trivial it seemed to him, and would give him no
information in return until he had finished to her satisfaction.
By the time their dessert came the night was as dark as most nights ever
got, the sun and Core wholly gone, one moon soon to follow, a few lingering
stars barely visible above the horizon.
“So,” she said pleasantly, as she spooned black sugar - another Jaggonath
specialty - into a thick, foamy drink. “Your turn. What is it you hunger most to
know?”
He considered the several half-jesting answers he might have offered
another woman, then reconsidered and discarded them. An open offer of
information was just too valuable an opportunity to waste on social repartee.
“Forest or Rakh,” he answered, after very little thought. “Take your pick.”
For a moment - just the briefest moment - he saw something dark cross her
countenance. Anger? Fear? Foreboding? But her voice was its usual light self as
she leaned back and asked him, “Ambitious, aren’t you?”
“Those things are only legends where I come from. And shadowy legends, at
that.”
“But you’re curious.”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“About the Forest? When merely thinking about it opens up a channel for the
dark fae to travel? Most men prefer to avoid that risk.”
The Forest. The fact that she had chosen that topic meant that it was the
other one which had caused her such acute discomfort; he filed that fact away
for future reference, and addressed himself to the issue she preferred. The
Forest, called Forbidden in all the ancient texts. What did they know of it, even
here? It was a focal point of the wildest fae, which in an earlier, less
sophisticated age had been called evil. Now they knew better. Now they
understood that the forces which swept across this planet’s surface were neither
good nor evil in and of themselves, but simply responsive. To hopes and fears,
wards and spells and all the patterns of a Working, dreams and nightmares and
repressed desires. When tamed, it was useful. When responding to man’s darker
urges, to the hungers and compulsions which he repressed in the light of day, it
could be deadly. Witness the Landing, and the gruesome deaths of the first few