"Barbara Hambly - Sun Wolf 2 - Witches of Wenshar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hambly Barbara)

out darkly against his gray flesh, and, like a candle being blown out, he
fainted.
"Good," Sun Wolf grunted, as they eased him gently back to lay
him on the sand. "With luck he'll stay unconscious and won't argue
about his pox-rotted manhood all the way up to the Fortress."
The guards looked shocked, but, in the commander Nanciormis'
eye, he caught the flicker of an appreciative grin.

CHAPTER 2
In the fortress of Tandieras supper was over, the trestle tables in
the Great Hall put away, and the chairs and benches pushed back
against the walls of the vast, granite room which was the old castle's
heart. Like the Longhorn Inn, it was lit chiefly by wall sconces whose
polished metal reflectors threw back the soft beeswax glow into the
room, but here the height of the ceiling, though it added to the cold, at
least relieved the smoke. In addition, a huge fireplace stretched along
one side of the feasting-dais at the far end, around which carved chairs
were clustered, and two chandeliers dangled-unlit, massive, ominous
iron wheels-in the dense shadows overhead.
But Sun Wolf's first impression, as he stepped through the triple
archway that led from the vestibule into the Hall, was one of color,
gaiety, and movement. Since it was the season of sandstorms, the big
wooden shutters that guarded the line of tall windows on the room's
southern wall had been closed nearly to for the night. Servants in drab
shirts and breeches, gently born retainers in colorful broadcloth and
white ruffs, and guards in dark green leather were grouped around the
sides of the Hall, clapping in time to the music of pipes, flutes, and the
fast, heartbreaking throb of a hand-drum; in the center of the Hall, lit by
hand-held lamps and torches all around her, a girl was doing a war
dance.
It was one of the old war dances of the Middle Kingdoms, done
these days for the sheer joy of its violent measures. A young man and a
girl in guard's uniforms stood aside, sweat-soaked and panting, having
clearly just finished their turn. As the dancer's shadow flickered across
them, the blades below her glinted. They were using live weapons. But
for all the concern on her face, the girl might have been dancing around
and over a circle of wheat sheaves; her feet, clad in light riding boots
under a kilted-up skirt, tapped at will, now this side, now that side, of
the blued edges of the upturned swords. She looked to be about
sixteen; her sand-blond hair, mixed fair and dark, caught the light on its
thick curls; the torches were not brighter than her eyes.
Beside him, Sun Wolf was aware of Nanciormis striding through
the arch into the room, his mouth open to call out the ill news. Sun Wolf
caught the man's thick arm and said softly, "Don't startle her."
The guards' commander saw what he meant and checked, then
blustered, "No, of course I wasn't going to." He signaled one of the
pages to come over and whispered hasty instructions to the boy. The
young face paled in the torchlight with shock. "Go on!" Nanciormis
ordered, and the page went slipping off through the crowd toward the
little knot of gentlemen-in-waiting who stood between the fireplace and