"Tanya Huff - Kigh 2 - Fifth Quarter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

the dirt and began to creep on her belly around the perimeter. The marshal's
voice grew louder, and for the first time she heard the rough whisper that
answered. Commander Neegan. She grinned. They'd expected as much and made
allowances for his presence.

The crushed and dying grass beneath the carpet made breathing difficult, but
Vree sucked air past her teeth and kept moving through the thick growth. A
parade of heavy-footed officers had mashed the floor flat in the center of the
tent, but out where the billowing walls touched the earth, it rose and fell like the
dunes of Hedyve. Between the patterns in the carpet and the flickering shadows
—the marshal was well known for conserving lamp oil—an extra pair of lumps
in the floor would not likely be noticed. When Vree finally paused, she could
feel Bannon's movement in the vibrations of the fabric against her shoulder
blades. But only Bannon's movement. She froze, listening. Wood and leather
creaked above and to her left. Both marshal and commander were seated,
discussing possible routes for a massed attack.



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"They know we're coming; what makes you think they haven't moved the
furniture around?" Bannon asked, rubbing his palms together as he peered down
at the diagram sketched in the dirt.

"Two reasons." Vree sat back on her heels. "First, the marshal always sits facing
the entrance. Always. That doesn't leave a lot of options with a map table that
size. Second …" She looked up at her brother and drew a circle around the
sketch with one seemingly delicate, long-fingered hand. "… they don't think we
can make it that far."

Bannon grinned in anticipation. A shadow-bladed knife flickered against his
palm, then disappeared back into a hidden sheath, the motion almost too fast to
follow. "More fools they."


"Well, Neegan…" The marshal leaned back in the folding camp chair and set the
empty flagon on the table with a sharp crack. "… second watch is nearly over
and still no sign of them."

"Too early to relax, Marshal." Commander Neegan's whisper had been given
him many years before by an enemy archer. The commander had not only
survived the battle but seen to it that the archer did not.

Marshal Chela smiled, the expression bracketing the rounded curves of her face
with deep creases. "I never relax," she said cheerfully. "It's why I've lived to a
ripe old age." She reached for the flagon, remembered it was empty, and sighed.
"There's another bottle in that case behind you, Neegan. Get it, would you."