"Stephen Lawhead - Dragon King 02 - The Warlords of Nin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

Toli laughed softly. “Only that I know my Kenta very well. You would
not look so if you had not a suspicion of what lay behind this innocent
summons.”
“Innocent?” He fingered the leather case that he had stooped to retrieve.
“But you’re right, Toli. I am afraid a little. Something came over me as I
read that message—a feeling of deep sadness, of loss....”
Toli watched Quentin closely and waited for him to continue.
“I’m afraid that if we go to Askelon now, we will never come back to
Dekra again.”
“You saw this?”
 Quentin only shook his head.
“Well, then it may not be. Your feelings may only be a warning of what
may come if we do not go at once.”
Quentin smiled again; this time a flicker of relief shone in his eyes.
“Yes, perhaps you are right. As usual the servant has rescued his master
from himself.
“We can leave tonight. It will be good to sleep on the trail again. We
have not done that in a long time, you and I.”
“We shall, but not tonight. Have you forgotten that tonight we dine with
Yeseph? If I am not mistaken, we have only enough time to prepare
ourselves and go to his house. He will be waiting.”
“We will leave at dawn instead,” said Quentin.
“So be it,” said Toli, inclining his head in a slight bow. “I will see to our
preparations when we have supped with Yeseph and the Elders.”
Quentin nodded and took the rolled parchment which Toli offered him,
then slid it back into its case as they turned and walked back into
Quentin’s rooms.
The two dressed themselves in their finest woolen mantles and stuffed
their feet into fine leather boots and set off for Yeseph’s humble lodgings.
Yeseph lived in a quarter of the ruined city near the library. As they
walked along together, Quentin looked upon the home he had come to
love. His eyes, long ago accustomed to the tumbled structures that still met
his gaze on every side, seemed not to notice the destruction, but instead
saw it all the way it had been in the time of the mighty Ariga.
In his mind he saw stones lifted back into place one upon another;
arches reconstructed with their colorful tiles, and beautifully carved doors
thrown wide in welcome; courtyards once again abloom with flowering
plants; streets echoing with laughter and song. He saw it all as he
imagined it had been. Quentin always experienced the same magical
sensation when he moved about the city. In the ten years he had lived in
Dekra, he never lost the rapture it held for him, or the feeling that he
belonged there, that Dekra was his home as was none other he would ever
find.
“It will be once again,” said Toli as they moved along the quiet streets,
over stones worn smooth with time.
“What will be?” asked Quentin absently.
 “This city. It will be again what it once was: the way you see it in your
head.”
“Do you think so?”
“Don’t you?”