"Terry Goodkind - Debt of Bones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goodkind Terry)

A slow smile came to the woman's weather-cracked lips. 'The spirits believe
Other than her mother, no woman in Abby's small town of Coney
that there is no stronger power than a mother's want to protect her child.'
Crossing was sufficiently important to have hair long enough to touch
Abby gently pulled her arm away. The spirits know the truth of that.'
the shoulders. Abby's own fine, dark brown hair covered her ears but no
more. Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the suddenly talkative woman, Abby
Coming through the city on the way to the Keep, it had been hard for searched for a safe place to settle her gaze. It made her dizzy to look down into the
her not to gape at noble women with hair to their shoulders and even a yawning chasm beneath the bridge, and she was weary of watching the Wizard's
little beyond. But the Confessor going up to the Keep, dressed in the Keep, so she pretended that her attention had been caught as an excuse to turn
simple, satiny, black dress of a Confessor, had hair that reached halfway back towards the collection of people, mostly men, waiting with her at the head
down her back. of the bridge. She busied herself with nibbling on the last crust of bread from the
She wished she could have had a better look at the rare sight of such loaf she had bought down in the market before coming up to the Keep.
long luxuriant hair and the woman important enough to possess it, but Abby felt awkward talking to strangers. In her whole life she had never seen so
Abby had gone to a knee with the rest of the company at the bridge, and many people, much less people she didn't know. She knew every person in
like the rest of them feared to raise her bowed head to look up lest she meet Coney Crossing. The city made her apprehensive, but not as apprehensive as
the gaze of the other. It was said that to meet the gaze of a Confessor could the Keep towering on the mountain above it, and that, not as much as her
cost you your mind if you were lucky, and your soul if you weren't. Even reason for being there.
though Abby's mother had said it was untrue, that only the deliberate She just wanted to go home. But there would be no home, at least
touch of such a woman could effect such a deed, Abby feared, this day of nothing to go home to, if she didn't do this.
all days, to test the stories. All eyes turned up at the rattle of hooves coming out under the
The old woman in front of her, clothed in layered skirts topped with portcullis. Huge horses, all dusky brown or black and bigger than any Abby
one dyed of henna and mantled with a dark draping shawl, watched the had ever seen, came thundering towards them. Men bedecked with polished
soldiers pass and then leaned closer. 'Do better to bring a bone, dearie. I breastplates, chain-mail, and leather, and most carrying lances or poles topped
hear that there be those in the city who will sell a bone such as you need - with long flags of high office and rank, urged their mounts onward. They raised
for the right price. Wizards don't take no salt pork for a need. They got salt dust and gravel as they gathered speed crossing the bridge, a wild rush of colour
pork.' She glanced past Abby to the others to see them occupied with their and sparkles of light from metal flashing past. Sanderian lancers, from the
own interests. 'Better to sell your things and hope you have enough to buy descriptions Abby had heard. She had trouble imagining the enemy with the
a bone. Wizards don't want what some country girl brung 'em. Favours nerve to go up against men such as these.
from wizards don't come easy.’ She glanced to the backs of the soldiers as Her stomach roiled. She realized she had no need to imagine and no reason
they reached the far side of the bridge, 'Not even for those doing their to put her hope in brave men such as those lancers. Her only hope was the
bidding, it would seem.' wizard, and that hope was slipping away as she stood waiting. There was
'I just want to talk to them. That's all.' nothing for it but to wait.
'Salt pork won't get you a talk, neither, as I hear tell.' She eyed Abby's hand
trying to cover the smooth round shape beneath the burlap. 'Or a jug you made.
That what it is, dearie?' Her brown eyes, set in a wrinkled leathery mask, turned
up, peering with sudden, humourless intent. 'A jug?'
 Abby turned back to the Keep just in time to see a statuesque woman in
The man, the ends of his grey hair coiled on his shoulders, glanced at
simple robes stride out through the opening in the massive stone wall.
Abby. His hooded eyes gleamed with challenge. She swallowed and
Her fair skin stood out all the more against straight dark hair parted in the
remained silent. She didn't have any objection, either, at least none she
middle and readily reaching her shoulders. Some of the men had been
was willing to voice. For all she knew, the noble was important enough to
whispering about the sight of the Sanderian officers, but at the sight of
see to it that she was denied an audience. She couldn't afford to take that
the woman everyone fell to silence. The four soldiers at the head of the
chance now that she was this close.
stone bridge made way for the woman as she approached the supplicants.