"Tanya Huff - The Fire's Stone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Huff Tanya)

for the volcano-or more specifically for the crater-ridiculous.

"Perhaps," the merchant wet his lips and reached out a tentative hand, "you would let me buy you a
drink?"

"No." The hand was avoided; the young man radiating disgust.

The merchant shrugged, disappointed but philosophical- outlanders, who could fathom them-and again
turned his attention to the crater.

Smoke rose from the thief's soft leather shoes.

Making his way down the terraces, slipping deftly between merrymakers, the young man considered the
fate of thieves in the royal city. He hefted the weight of the merchant's purse, lifted almost without
thinking as he'd left, and the corners of his narrow mouth quirked upward in what served him for a
smile. Well, the man had offered to buy him a drink.

THE FIRE'S STONE 9
***
"Aaron!"
The outlander looked up. Pale fingers stopped playing in the contents of the merchant's purse. Brows, a
lighter ginger than his hair, tufting thickly over the center of silver-gray eyes, rose.
"Don't waggle those demon wings at me, boy. That was the third time I called you. What keeps you so
enthralled you ignore me in my own house?"
"I went up the mountain today. To see the drop."
The old woman on the couch snorted. "Disappointed you, did it?"
Aaron scowled, animation returning to his sharp features. "You don't know what you're talking about,
Faharra." He shoved the purse deep in the pocket of his loose trousers.
"Oh, don't I?" Clawlike fingers plucked peevishly at the fringes of her silk shawl. "I still have my wits
about me, boy. More wits than even you give me credit for." She tried a knowing laugh, but it turned to
a fit of coughing that left her gasping for breath and glaring fiercely. "I see more than you suspect. Get
me some wine." As Aaron moved to the small table by her couch, she snared the edge of his tunic. "Not
that crap. My granddaughter has it so watered, I could wash with it. There's a flask of the good stuff in
the trunk."
The trunk, a massive ebony box entirely too covered in ivory inlay, was locked. It took Aaron less than
five heartbeats to deal with it.
"You'll kill yourself with this stuff one day," he remarked conversationally, handing her a full goblet.
"And who has more right?" Faharra drank deeply and licked withered lips. Although her hands shook
with the tremors of age, she didn't spill a single drop of the wine. "For sixty-two years I was the best
gem cutter in Ishchia." She took another swallow. "I cut the emerald that sits atop the royal staff. One
huge stone it is and emeralds aren't easy to cut, let me tell you."
"You've told me," Aaron broke in, bored. He refilled her goblet until the deep red wine trembled just
below the metal edge.

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"And if you behave yourself, I'll tell you again."
She drank in silence for a moment while Aaron replaced the now empty flask and relocked the trunk. Let