"Recluce - 09 - Colors Of Chaos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

the home of the Guild and the mages who had labored centuries to build
the great highways of eastern Candar.
   Stamping his feet again, he walked back and forth on the walkway
behind the rampart several more times, but his feet remained cold, almost
numb.
   The bell rang, its clear sound echoing on the rampart, but Cerryl had
already stepped forward with the sound of wheels on stone once more.
   A farm wagon stood before the guards. Three men in rough browns stood
by the wagon. Three and a driver?
   "What have you in the wagon?"
   "Just our packs. We're headed to Junuy's to pick up some grain for the
mill in Lavah."
   Cerryl frowned. Lavah was on the north side of the Great North Bay, a
long ways to go for grain. His senses went down and out to the wagon, and
he nodded to himself, marshaling chaos for what would come, knowing it
would happen, and wishing vainly that it would not. "There's something in
the space beneath the seat. Oils, I'd guess."
   The driver grabbed an iron blade from beneath the wagon seat, and the
gate guards brought up their shortswords automatically but stepped back.
   Cerryl focused chaos on the driver, holding back for a moment, hoping
the driver would drop the blade, but the man started to swing it forward.
   Whhhsttt! The firebolt spewed over the figure so quickly he did not
even scream. The blade clunked dully on the white granite paving stones
beside the wagon. White ashes drifted across the charred wagon seat. The
other three men did not move as the guards shackled them and led them
into the barred holding room to wait for the Patrol wagon. The patrol
would hold them until they were sent out on road duty.
   Cerryl was glad they hadn't raised weapons. Killing the driver had
been bad enough, and he wished the man had not raised the blade, but
raising weapons against gate guards or mages was strictly forbidden, and
rules were rules-even for mages.
   Two other guards began to inspect the wagon, then pulled open a door.
   "Good screeing, ser. Almost a score of scented oils-Hamorian, I'd
say!" Diborl called up to the young mage.
   Cerryl managed a nod. His head ached, throbbed. Myral had warned him
about the backlash of using chaos against cold iron, but he'd not had
that much choice if he wanted to ensure none of the guards were hurt.
Absently, he had to wonder about his ability to sense the oils. No
smuggler expected to get caught, and the hidden wagon compartment had
been prepared well in advance, perhaps even used before. Did that mean
other gate guards were less able, or lazy? Or looked the other way?
   He pursed his lips, disliking all of the possibilities and
understanding that he knew too little to determine which, if any, might
be the most likely answer.
   Below, the guards carried the jars of oil, probably glazed with a lead
pigment, into the storage room. The confiscated goods were auctioned
every eight-day, with the high bidder required to pay the taxes and
tariffs-on top of the final bid. The golds raised went into road building
and maintenance, or so Kinowin had told Cerryl.
   Even if some smuggling succeeded, Cerryl still didn't understand why