"Kay, Guy Gavriel - Last Light Of The Sun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kay Guy Gavriel)

a stranger on Rabady Isle, with the governor (they used an Erling
word, but it meant, as best ibn Bakir could tell, something very like
a governor) dead and his funeral rites marred by a mysteriously
missing animal. Suspicions might fall.

As the group approached, he spread his hands, palms up, and
brought them together in front of him. He bowed formally.
someone laughed. Someone stopped directly in front of him,
reached out, unsteadily, and fingered the pale yellow silk of ibn
Bakir's tunics, leaving a smear of grease. Ofnir, his interpreter, said
something in their language and the others laughed again. Ibn
Bakir, alert now, believed he detected an easing of tension. He had
no idea what he'd do if he was wrong.

The considerable profit you could make from trading with
barbarians bore a direct relation to the dangers of the journey—and
the risks were not only at sea. He was the youngest partner,
investing less than the others, earning his share by being the one
who travelled . . . by allowing thick, rancid-smelling barbarian
fingers to tug at his clothing while he smiled and bowed and silently
counted the hours and days till the roundship might leave, its hold
emptied and refilled.

"They say," Ofnir spoke slowly, in the loud voice one used with the
simple-minded, "it is now known who take Halldr horse." His breath,
very close to ibn Bakir, smelled of herring and beer.

His tidings, however, were entirely sweet. It meant they didn't think
the trader from Al-Rassan, the stranger, had anything to do with it.
Ibn Bakir had been dubious about his ability, with two dozen words
in their tongue and Ofnir's tenuous skills, to make the obvious point
that he'd just arrived the afternoon before and had no earthly (or
other) reason to impede local rites by stealing a horse. These were
not men currently in a condition to assess cogency of argument.

"Who did it?" Ibn Bakir was only mildly curious.

"Servant to Halldr. Sold to him. Father make wrong killing. Sent
away. Son have no right family now."

Lack of family appeared to be an explanation for theft here, ibn
Bakir thought wryly. That seemed to be what Ofnir was conveying.
He knew someone back home who would find this diverting over a
glass of good wine.

"So he took the horse? Where? Into the woods?" Ibn Bakir
gestured at the pines beyond the fields.

Ofnir shrugged. He pointed out into the square. Ibn Bakir saw that
men were now mounting horses there—not always smoothly—and