"Robert Jordan - The Wheel of Time 05 - The Fires of Heaven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

Green, so concerned was she with her looks and clothes. "Almost everyone in those poor lands is
a refugee, including those who might send news. The Panarch Amathera has apparently vanished,
and it seems an Aes Sedai may have been involved. . . ."
Elaida's hand tightened on her stole. Nothing touched her face, but her, eyes smoldered.
The matter of the Saldaean army was done. At least Memara was Red; that was a surprise. But
they had not even asked her opinion. It was done. The startling possibility that an Aes Sedai was
involved in the disappearance of the Panarch-if this was not another of the thousand improbable
tales that drifted from the western coast-could not take Elaida's mind from that. There were Aes
Sedai scattered from the Aryth Ocean to the Spine of the World, and the Blues at least might do
anything. Less than two months since they had all knelt to swear fealty to her as the embodiment
of the White Tower, and now the decision was made without so much as a glance in her direction.
The Amyrlin's study sat only a few levels up in the White Tower, yet this room was the
heart of the Tower as surely as the Tower itself, the color of bleached bone, was the heart of the
great island city of Tar Valon, cradled in the River Erinin. And Tar Valon was, or should be, the
heart of the world. The room spoke of the power wielded by the long line of women who had
occupied it, floor of polished redstone from the Mountains of Mist, tall fireplace of golden
Kandori marble, walls paneled in pale, oddly striped wood marvelously carved with unknown
birds and beasts more than a thousand years ago. Stone like glittering pearls framed the tall,
arched windows that let onto the balcony overlooking the Amyrlin's private garden, the only stone
like it known, salvaged from a nameless city swallowed by the Sea of Storms during the Breaking
of the World. A room of power, a reflection of Amyrlins who had made thrones dance to their
calling for nearly three thousand years. And they did not even ask her opinion.
It happened too often, this slighting. Worst-most bitter of all, perhaps-they usurped her
authority without even thinking of it. They knew how she had come to the stole, knew their Aiel
had put it on her shoulders. She herself had been too much aware of that. But they presumed too
far. It would soon be time to do something about that. But not quite yet.
She had put her own stamp on the room, as much as possible, with a writing table ornately
carved in triple linked rings and a heavy chair that raised an inlaid ivory Flame of Tar Valon above
her dark hair like a large snowy teardrop. Three boxes of Altaran lacquerwork were arranged on
the table, precisely equidistant from each other; one held the finest of her collection of carved
miniatures. A white vase on a simple plinth against one wall held red roses that filled the room
with sweet fragrance. There had been no rain since she was raised, but fine blossoms were always
available with the Power; she had always liked flowers. They could be so easily pruned and
trained to produce beauty.
Two paintings hung where, seated, she could see them merely by lifting her head. The
others avoided looking at them; among all the Aes Sedai who came to Elaida's study, only
Alviarin ever so much as glanced at them.
"Is there any news of Elayne?" Andaya asked diffidently. A thin, birdlike little woman,
outwardly timid despite Aes Sedai features, the second Gray looked an unlikely mediator, but was
in fact one of the best. There were still faint traces of Tarabon in her voice. "Or Galad? If
Morgase discovers that we have lost her stepson, she may begin to ask more questions concerning
the whereabouts of her daughter, yes? And if she learns we have lost the Daughter-Heir, Andor
may become as closed to us as Amadicia."
A few women shook their heads-there was no news, and Javindhra said, "A Red sister is in
place in the Royal Palace. Newly raised, so she can easily pass for other than Aes Sedai." She
meant that the woman had not yet taken on the agelessness that came with long use of the Power.
Someone trying to guess the age of any woman in the study would have fumbled over a range of
twenty years, and in some cases would be off by twice that. "She is well trained, though, quite
strong, and a good observer. Morgase is absorbed in putting forward her claim to the Cairhienin
throne." Several women shifted on their stools, and as if realizing she had stepped close to