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

waist, displays a broad and tanned chest, although one which seems soft to Creslin. Still, the man
is taller than Creslin, as are most of the Sarronnese men, and his laugh is easy and practiced.
The tone grates on Creslin's ears, as do all falsehoods-his own and others'.
"What do you think of the progress of the negotiations?" asks Frewya.
Creslin finishes another bite of the burkha. "I trust that they are going as planned, but since
the higher matters of statecraft are best practiced by those with their responsibility, I can but
hope." He takes another bite, this time of the mint leaves that help to cool the fire of the hot
brown sauce.
"Are the guards of Westwind as fearsome as they are reputed to be?" pursues his tablemate,
sending another gust of highly charged breath into his face.
"Fearsome? Certainly they are called fearsome. Their training is rigorous . . . that I have
seen. But since I have not seen them in battle, only in practice, I might not be the best one to
answer that question." He cuts another slice of the highly spiced meat.
"You seem rather unable to comment about much, Consort-Assign," breaks in a new voice, a deep
masculine voice, belonging to the man on the other side of the red-haired woman.
Creslin lifts his head, takes in the artificially waved blond locks, the even tan, and the
stylish shirt. "I'm afraid I have little practice in saying nothing, and perhaps my lack of
training in the art of diplomacy shows through."
A bemused smile appears on the redhead's lips, but she says nothing.
"Your words belie your assertions, for again you have said little."
"You are absolutely correct, but then, I need to say nothing. Nor do I have the need to prove
anything by my words." Creslin turns his head fractionally from the blond man to the redhead.
"Your pardon, your grace, for such bluntness, but the Roof of the World is not a soft place, even
for a consort, and I am not skilled at evasions."
With a smile that is half-bemusement, half-laughter, she responds with a tilt of her head. "I
accept your bluntness, Creslin. It is a shame that you will not be here much longer. Some . . .
could learn from your words." She turns from him to her companion and adds, "Dreric, I am certain
that our guest would have more than enough to say in a less formal setting."
Dreric nods, then turns to the woman to his left and asks, "Your grace, have you heard the
Sligan guitarists before?"


file:///F|/rah/L.%20E.%20Modesitt/Modesitt,%2...05%20-%20The%20Towers%20Of%20The%20Sunset.txt (5 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

For all the politeness, Creslin suppresses a wince at the iron behind the words of the red-
haired woman and at Dreric's reaction.
"What do you think of Sarronnyn? That should be a question harmless enough," laughs the
redhead, whose name Creslin has not yet learned.
"I don't know what to think," he begins, "except that it appears prosperous. Certainly the
roads are well maintained, and the people we passed on the way scarcely looked up from their work.
Some even waved, and that would indicate general contentment."
"You are cautious, aren't you?"
"One learns a certain caution upon the Roof of the World."
"And as the only male of standing in a garrison of the Westhorns' most fearsome fighters?"
"Standing?" Creslin laughs, and the laugh is not forced. "Your grace, I have no standing, save
by the Marshall's wish."
"You are the consort-assign?"
"While the Marshall holds Westwind."
"I fail to see the distinction."