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

"You may call me Frewya." Her smile is only slightly less overpowering than her breath. "Would
you tell us about Westwind?"
Creslin nods but first finishes a small section of pearapple and wipes his lips with the linen
napkin before speaking. "I doubt that I am the most-qualified individual to describe Westwind, but
I will do my best." He turns to the red-haired girl. "I would not exclude you, your grace-"
"If you would tell us about Westwind ..." Her voice contains a hint of laughter as she pauses
in raising her goblet. She wears a heavy, dull, iron bracelet, almost as wide as a wrist gauntlet
and set with a single black stone.
Creslin senses that the bracelet is not exactly what it seems to be before he quickly returns
his glance to her face. Her hidden laughter has pleased him, and he bestows a smile upon her
before turning back to Frewya.
"Westwind sits upon the Roof of the World, anchored in gray granite to the mountains
themselves, walled against the weather, and armored against all assailants ..." Creslin did not
compose the words he employs, but calls them from his memory of words written by another silver-


file:///F|/rah/L.%20E.%20Modesitt/Modesitt,%2...05%20-%20The%20Towers%20Of%20The%20Sunset.txt (4 of 219) [5/22/03 12:31:46 AM]
 file:///F|/rah/L.%20E.%20Modesitt/Modesitt,%20L%20E%20-%20Recluse%2005%20-%20The%20Towers%20Of%20The%20Sunset.txt

haired man, kept in a small volume addressed to him.
"... and during the storms, the great hall, with its furnaces and chimneys, holds all warm
against the winter and worse. Outside the walls of Westwind and beyond the walled road that leads
to the trade routes, near-unbroken whiteness sweeps from below the south tower and up toward the
still-shimmering needle of Freyja.
"Freyja" Creslin explains more conversationally, "is the sole peak to catch the light of the
sun at dawn and at dusk.
"Beyond the Roof of the World are the depths, the cliffs that drop more than a thousand cubits
into ice and rock. Beyond and below them lies the darkness of the high forest-massive spruces and
firs that march both north and south toward the barrier peaks of the Westhorns." Creslin stops and
smiles, then shrugs. "You see, I can offer you only images."
"You offer them well," responds Frewya.
The red-haired girl, or woman-for Creslin has perceived that she is somewhat older than he is-
nods.
In the interim, his plate has been removed and replaced with a second and larger one, also of
yellow porcelain, on which rests a slice of browned meat covered with a white sauce. To the side
are cooked green leaves.
Creslin slices a presentably small section of meat. He ignores the spicy and bitter taste,
although he calls the slightest of breezes to carry away the perspiration that threatens to bead
on his forehead.
"How do you like the burkha?" The question comes from the redhead.
"It's a bit spicier than what is served at Westwind," he admits.
The woman laughs. "You're the first outsider I've seen who didn't totally burst into sweat with
the first bite."
Creslin smiles vaguely, wondering whether to feel insulted or complimented. "I take it that's a
compliment."
" Yes." But before she can say more, she turns to the man on her left in response to a question
from him.
Creslin realizes that she wears a second bracelet upon her left arm. Both bracelets are
concealed by the flowing blue silksheen of her gown, except when she raises a hand to pick up a
goblet or to gesture. The man on her left, who wears a laced and frilled shirt open nearly to his