"Charles Ingrid - The Sand Wars 03 - Celestial Hit List" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ingrid Charles)

“And before you became a Knight, a free-lance mercenary.”

No, Jack thought. I was always a Knight. But he did not voice his
thoughts, because the mercenaries followed a code that said there was no
tomorrow, only today, and the Purple had accepted him on that basis. For
the Owner of the Purple, Jack had no history. Instead of interrupting, Jack
listened, knowing that his former mercenary friend had become a mediator,
a buffer, always between the newly reformed Knights, and the Emperor of
the Triad Throne. All of them had sworn allegiance to the emperor in all
manner of thought and deed—except for Jack. He’d sworn vengeance. Now,
as if to hide his thoughts, he turned on one heel, looking back at his fellows.
“He’s tripled the size of the bodyguard.”

“Closer to quadrupled, while you were gone.”

Storm stared at the Malthen parade grounds, but what he saw was the
dead moon surface, where he had nearly died. He blinked and the dust and
heat-fused parade grounds came back into focus. Would it never rain here,
sweeping away the dust and misery? In spite of the heat, he shivered. He’d
worked hard to become a Knight, only to lose it all when he’d been
shanghaied, contracted out—but he’d fought back. And now he was back.

Pepys seemed determined to make a hero out of him instead of an
embarrassment by adding cover-up charges to the havoc Jack had already
wreaked.

Such as blowing up a Thrakian warship despite the Treaty.

Jack smiled grimly at the memory. Sound shields were up, a sonic curtain
protecting the practice ceremony from electronic surveillance by over-eager
media specialists. But what he had to say was for the commander’s ears
alone. He stepped closer to the Owner of the Purple.

“Why won’t he see me?”

Purple looked at him. Humor had permanently etched its marks at the
corners of lively brown eyes that belied the age his silvery hair indicated. He
paused, before asking in turn, “What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s talked to everybody about Lasertown but me. For God’s
sake, he’s even interviewed you and you weren’t even there.”

“He’s protecting you, isn’t he? The man’s emperor, Jack, not a damn
garbage processor.”

“What I have to say isn’t garbage. He has to know what happened, not
only to me but to everyone under the dome—he has to know what the
Thraks are doing. He has to know what I saw.”

The two men stood, nearly nose to nose, an old man with young eyes