"Moon, Elizabeth - Gird 02 - Liar's Oath E-Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

things. But they didn’t seek bribes, I’ll say that much for ’em.”
“They’d better not,” said Gird, suddenly all Marshal-General. Even the old lady
gaped; Luap, who had seen it often enough not to be surprised, enjoyed the
reactions of others. He had never figured out what Gird did to change from
farmer to ruler so swiftly, but no one ever mistook the change. “So,” he went
on, this time with everyone’s attention, “you did not come to the Hall that day,
and had not known Arranha was with us? You should know that I’ve known him for
some years—he’ll tell you in what tangle we met, if you wish. I knew he’d been
exiled, and nearly killed, but for all that he’s a priest of Esea, one of the
few left alive these days.”
“He’s a fool,” said the old lady, having recovered her composure. “He always
was, with his questions into this and that and everything. Couldn’t let a body
alone, not any more than a bee will give a flower a moment’s peace to enjoy the
sun. Always ‘But don’t you think this’ and ‘Well then, don’t you see that’ until
everyone was ready to throw up their hands and run off.”
Gird grinned. “He did that to me, too. You know he took me to the gnomes?”
She sniffed. “That’s exactly the sort of thing I’d expect. Gnomes! Trust Arranha
to complicate matters: mix a peasant revolt with gnomes and both with religion.”
The flick of her hand down her lap dismissed Arranha’s notions.
“Well, it worked. Although there were times, that winter, when I could happily
have strangled your Arranha.”
“He’s not ours,” the old lady said. “A law to himself, he is, and always has
been. Although you—” She gave Gird a look up and down. “I expect you give him a
few sleepless nights, and all the better.”
“But my point,” Gird said, now very gently, “is that Arranha is the only priest
of Esea now in Fin Panir, serving his god within the High Lord’s Hall, and he
has not said anything about needing such cloths… although your years of labor
should not be in vain, you must know that we are not such worshippers of Esea as
your folk were.”
“Even he—even he should realize—” Abruptly—Luap wondered if it were all genuine
feeling, or a habit known to be effective with men in power—the old lady’s eyes
filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks. “Oh, sir—and I don’t mind
calling a peasant sir in such a case—I don’t care what you call the god:
Sun-lord, High Lord, Maker of Worlds, it doesn’t matter. But he must be
respected, whatever you call him, and I’ve made these…” A tear fell, almost on
the cloth; when she saw it, her face paled, and she turned aside. “I must
not—cry—on the cloth—”
Eris came forward, and offered her apron, on which the lady wiped her damp face.
“She really believes, sir, that if the altar’s not cared for, it’ll come bad
luck to everyone. It’s no trick, sir, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The old lady’s hands, dry now, fumbled at the cloth, to fold it away safely. She
didn’t look up; her shoulders trembled. Luap felt a pang of emotion he could not
identify: pity? sorrow? mean amusement? Gird sighed, gustily, like his horse.
Luap knew what he wanted to say; he had said it before. You should have
worshipped better gods he had told more than one mageborn survivor who wanted
enforced tithes to rebuild the Sunlord’s lesser temples. Only Arranha’s
arguments had kept him from forbidding Esea’s worship altogether, although Luap
couldn’t see how the god could be responsible for his worshippers’ mistakes.
What he could see were any number of ways to placate the old lady without
causing trouble among Gird’s followers. Give the cloths to Arranha, and let him