"Juliet E. McKenna - Einarinn 4 - The Warrior's Bond" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKenna Juliet E)

but I heard more modern intonations as well, mostly Lescari. I looked up to
the ship to recognise various mercenaries who'd chosen to stay on the far side
of the ocean after the previous year's expedition had discovered the long lost
colony of the Old Empire. They were getting the people off the vessel as fast
as they could.
'Dastennin?' Casuel came up, frowning as he struggled to
understand Temar. 'Tell him he has modern magecraft to thank rather than
ancient superstition.' Casuel had been born to a Tormalin merchant family and
this wasn't the first time I'd heard echoes of his Rationalist upbringing. It
must cause him some confusion, I thought with amusement, since that philosophy
denounces elemental magic just as readily as it reviles religion.
'Casuel Devoir, Temar D'Alsennin,' I made a belated introduction hastily.
'Esquire.' Casuel swept a bow worthy of an Emperor's salon. 'Your captain was
relying on his own seafaring skills? I thought it was clearly understood an
ocean crossing can only be safely managed with magical assistance.'
'Quite so.' Temar bowed in turn with a deference to the wizard nicely combined
with hauteur. 'And one of your colleagues was performing admirably until he
took a fall that broke both his legs.' Fleeting disdain in Temar's ice blue
eyes gave the lie to the measured politeness of his words. He indicated a
figure being carried down the gangplank by two burly sailors, injuries solidly
splinted with spars and canvas.
'I'm sorry?' Casuel spared his injured colleague a scant glance. 'Please speak
more slowly.'
I decided to turn the conversation to less contentious matters. 'When did you
cut your hair?'
Temar ran a hand over the short crop that replaced the long queue I'd last
seen him with, hair as black as my own but straight as a well rope.
'Practicality is now the watchword of Kel Ar'Ayen. Fashion is a luxury we
cannot yet afford.' I was glad to see a smile of good-humoured self-mockery
lightened the severity of his angular features.
'We'd better get this lot under lock and key, Temar, over yonder.' I pointed
to the warehouse I'd bespoken when we first arrived in Bremilayne. Sodden
sacks and battered casks were being swung on to the dock in capacious slings,
stacked anyhow as everyone hurried to lighten the stricken vessel. I caught an
avid expression on more than one onlooker's face.
'I will direct the men aboard ship.' Temar returned to the gangplank without
further ado.
'I'd better see to whoever that mage is,' Casuel said hastily as he watched
the injured man being lifted on to a litter.
'Absolutely.' Casuel could deal with wizardly concerns and I'd see to my own
responsibilities. Noticing D'Olbriot insignia on the cloak of a thickset new
arrival by the lofty warehouse, I hurried over and ushered the man inside the
shelter of the echoing building, speaking without preamble.
'This arrival's going to be the talk of the taverns, so who do we have to
secure the place if the wharf rats come sniffing around?' I ran fingers
through my hair to shed the worst of the rain, damp curls clinging tight to my
fingers.
'I've a double handful of newly recognised and four sworn and loyal.' The
man's grizzled and wiry hair ran unbroken into a full beard framing a
prominent nose and bulbous eyes, leaving him looking like an owl peering out