"Gray, Julia - Guardian 01 - The Dark Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gray Julia)

'Then how do we know you're not making an error now?' Leman demanded. 'None of us can even read that damned proclamation. Maybe the moons don't lie, but men can.'
The insult clearly cut deep, and Chenowith's face grew pale with anger.
'I am your underseer,' he said sharply. 'And until either the Governor or one of my superiors in the Seers' Council tells me otherwise, my word is law here.' He paused, aware of the hostility all around him but prepared to stand by what he'd said.
Leman's fury was still running high, but Chenowith's words had clearly had an effect on him.
'Can we not keep what we've already cut?' he asked. 'We can't afford such waste.'
The younger man shook his head determinedly.
'The Dark Moon changed aspect during the night. This corn is tainted and must be burnt. Can you afford to eat poison?'
'During the night?' Leman exploded. 'You had all night to work this out? And yet you let us begin this morning? Your incompetence . . .' Words failed him.
'I was up all night trying to finish my calculations,' the underseer replied defensively. 'This is a most complex matter. It's not only the Dark Moon that's-
'I don't want to hear your excuses!' Leman snapped.
'The rest of the crop can be saved,' Chenowith said placatingly. 'You only have to wait another two days and the White Moon will begin to wane. There will be time then-'
'Unless something else changes in the meantime,' the big man remarked caustically.
The underseer did not reply, and the silence stretched as the villagers' anger began to turn to sullen resignation. Their lives had always been ruled by the unseen forces of the skies, and they were not about to start breaking their taboos now - no matter how much they resented the hardships this would bring. They might despise Chenowith, but in the end they would obey him.
Terrel had listened to the debate, aware of the tensions all around but fascinated by the underseer's arguments. He very much wanted to talk to him and to study his almanac - but he was destined never to get the chance. One of the villagers had finally spotted the stranger, and when he took note of Terrel's appearance he cried out in alarm.
'Enchanter! An enchanter!'
Suddenly Terrel was the focus of everyone's attention - and it was a distinctly unpleasant feeling. Whether because of the already inflamed atmosphere, or because younger men are naturally more belligerent, his reception here was quite different from the one he had received in the village. Tools began to seem like weapons in the harvesters' hands, and every face wore a hostile or fearful expression as they began to gather round the outsider. Terrel had no idea why he had been called an enchanter - in fact he did not even know what an enchanter was - but he heard other, equally ominous whispers on the lips of some of the men.
'He has the demon eyes.'
'Look! There's his rune-sign on his hand.'
'. . . steal our souls.'
Only one man was prepared to confront him directly and that, predictably, was Leman.
'Who are you? What are you doing here?'
'My name is Terrel.' He was very frightened now, and angry with himself for having fallen into such a dangerous situation. 'I came here to talk to Chenowith.'
A further rumble of unease ran through the watchers.
'How do you know my name?' the underseer asked, obviously taken aback.
Terrel hesitated before replying, wondering whether his best chance might be to play on their evident superstition and pretend to have magical powers, but in the end he decided to stick to the truth.
'I've been to your village.'
This provoked another outburst from the onlookers, and Terrel hurried to calm their fears.
'Efrin invited me to eat with him.' .
'That old fool,' someone muttered.
'And Gallia gave me directions here,' Terrel added.
At the mention of the woman's name one of the harvesters stiffened, his knuckles showing white as he gripped his scythe.
'If you've harmed her,', he declared, 'I'll kill you!'
'Why would I want to harm her?' Terrel answered, bewildered. 'Or anyone? I'm no enchanter or demon. I'm just a man.'
'Then why are your eyes like that?' Leman asked.
Before Terrel had a chance to reply, another villager stepped forward.
'Perhaps he's the reason for all this!' he shouted wildly. 'He's put a curse on our fields!'
'No!' Chenowith cried. 'There is no curse. This is astrology. Science!'
The underseer was having to compete with voices raised in anger, and Terrel wasn't sure the harvesters were paying him any attention.
'We want no enchanter here.'
'Put his eyes out. He won't be able to harm us then.'
'Why would an enchanter be dressed in rags?' Leman asked. 'Or walk with a twisted leg?'
'His evil has crippled him,' someone suggested. 'We should finish him off.'
Several of the men began to advance menacingly, and Terrel was about to threaten them with magic - desperate enough now to reconsider the ploy he had rejected earlier - when Chenowith spoke up with the beginnings of real authority in his voice.
'Have you taken leave of your senses?' he shouted. 'You would consider murder on account of your superstitions? This is no more than a boy. He has no power. That resides in the heavens. Leave him be.'
The villagers hesitated, many of them looking to Leman for leadership, while Terrel was glad he had kept quiet.
'Would you have us just let him go free?' Leman asked, glancing at Chenowith.
Before the underseer could reply, the man whom Terrel had taken to be Gallia's husband interrupted.
'He goes nowhere until we know he's done no harm in the village.'
'That is fair,' Chenowith decreed. 'All you have at the moment are suspicions. If there is proof of wrongdoing, then that is another matter.'
'Yatil, you're the fastest,' Leman said. 'You go.'