"L. E. Modesitt - Recluce 05 - The Towers of the Sunset" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

by the windows several paces away. There are no shadows. "Oh, well. I wish I knew who she was," he
temporizes.
"She must think a lot of you, to be so open," marvels the herald.
Creslin smiles falsely, and his stomach turns again. Dreric's doing? But why would anyone start
an attack and then leave as soon as they she pinked his arm? Creslin does not look at his arm,
although his senses tell him that it bears a needlesized hole, and the slit in his silks is so
narrow that it cannot be seen.
Compared to the mess in the garden, the incident in the corridor is mild, best forgotten, and
quickly.
Still, he wonders.


VI

"YOU TOOK A considerable risk, Creslin. What if he had been a master-blade?"
"He wasn't. He wore the silks too well."
The Marshall shakes her head. "You realize that this will make your life much harder?"
"My life? I was more worried about your negotiations." He glances toward the window, where the
silken curtains billow in the wind preceding the rain clouds yet on the horizon.
"You couldn't have helped me more." The Marshall steps toward the window, then stops and fixes
hard blue eyes on her son.
Is she jesting? He waits for her to continue. For a time, the sitting room of the suite is
silent.
"A consort, scarcely more than a boy, disarms one of the most notorious blades in Sarronnyn.
Nertryl has killed more than a score of blades, male and female." The Marshall laughs harshly.
"And you apologized because you weren't up to the standard of the guard. Your friend, the herald,
had that all over the palace within moments of the time you were back in your room."
"I fail to see the problem," Creslin admits.
"What ruling family would willingly accept a consort more deadly than any man west of the
wizards and more dangerous than most of the fighting women in Candar? It doesn't exactly set well
with those who respect the Legend." The Marshall smiles. "That artistry on the other fellow's
cheek was also a bit much. Oh, I know it was justified, but it also shows that you don't play
games. Then, we all learned that a long time ago." She looks to the window. "In a way, it's too
bad we didn't get along better with the Suthyan emissary last spring. We'll do what we can ..."
Creslin suppresses a frown. At least he hadn't killed anyone. In view of the Marshall's mood,
he decides not to mention the strange episode in the corridor. The wound in his arm is no more
than a pinprick, and his senses and his health tell him that no poisons were involved.
The guard in the doorway shakes her head ever so slightly, mirroring the gesture of the
Marshall of Westwind, until Creslin looks in her direction.


VII

Ask not what a man is,
that he scramble after flattery as he can,


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