"Julia Gray - Guardian 04 - The Red Glacier" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gray Julia)

you still wouldn't have heard me coming.'
'Probably,' Terrel conceded. 'What shouldn't I take too hard?'
'The skipper's decision,' Kahl replied. 'Ostan did some pretty reckless things
himself when he was your age, but he's older now and more responsible. Or so
he'd like everyone to believe. I reckon you could get him to change his mind.'
'Really?'
'Aye. But you'll have to come up with a better argument than before.'
And that, Terrel thought, is the problem. He'd been trying to think of a way
to convince Ostan, but hadn't got very far.
'Why don't you talk to Kjolur?' the sailor suggested. 'He might be able to
help you. Myvatan's his homeland and he knows more about the place than any of
us.'
Terrel knew who Kjolur was, but had assumed he was just another member of the
crew. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't recall ever seeing him at work
on board or in the rigging.
'He keeps himself to himself,' Kahl went on, 'but he's not a bad sort.'
'You've met him before, then?'
'He's sailed with us several times. He's a merchant of some sort. Quite
secretive about his trade, but he pays well to add his cargo to ours, so we've
no quarrel with that.'
'I'll talk to him,' Terrel decided. 'Thanks.'
'Just so you know,' Kahl said, 'he's been asking a few questions about you, on
the quiet, like.'
'What did you tell him?'
'What could we tell him? We don't exactly know much ourselves, other than
you've a way to take the ache from a man's bones.' Kahl paused, perhaps hoping
that his companion would volunteer some more information about himself, but
Terrel had no intention of doing that. He was too busy wondering whether
Kjolur's interest in him stemmed from idle curiosity or something more.
Terrel found the islander sitting inside a coil of thick rope, near the stern
of the vessel. It looked like an uncomfortable seat, but Kjolur seemed quite
relaxed. As he drew closer, the healer was astonished to discover that the
merchant was reading a book - which immediately marked him out as unusual. In
all his travels, most of the people Terrel had met could neither read nor
write. Indeed, some of them - like the Toma in the desert land of Misrah — had
no written language at all. And everywhere he'd been, books were considered
rare and valuable objects, with many people regarding them as mysterious and
even magical artefacts.
'What are you reading?'
Kjolur looked up sharply, but did not seem particularly surprised to see who
it was. The islander had a thin, pinched face, with pale green eyes.
'It's a collection of old legends. My great-grandfather made a point of
writing them all down. I'm not sure why.
But they help to pass the time on a voyage like this. Do you read?'
'I do,' Terrel replied, 'but probably not in your language.' They were
speaking in what the sailors called 'the northern tongue', which was common to
many lands bordering the cold ocean and which, according to Kahl, was widely
spoken on Myvatan. That had come as a relief to Terrel, because it simplified
the process of communication. Psinoma enabled him to learn new languages
quickly, but he still felt guilty about the necessity of prying into other