"Joel Rosenberg - Hidden Ways 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenberg Joel C)

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Acknowledgments
I'm grateful to the Usual Suspects—Peg Kerr Ihinger, Bruce Bethke, and Pat Wrede—for helping to point the way; to Harry
Leonard, Victor Raymond, David Dyer-Bennet, Sharon Rosenberg, Dale Rosenberg, and Elise Matthesen for additional advice and
encouragement en route; to Eleanor Wood, for making the trip pay for itself; and to Chris Miller, John Douglas, and Bob Mecoy
for faith, patience, and enthusiasm at the beginning and through to the end. I'm also thankful for the copyediting of Carol Kennedy
and the proofreading of Beth Friedman. Special thanks to Jerry Pournelle for giving me the key to Arnie Selmo, and for his
consultation on the philosophy and practice of épée and foil fencing.

Much right is thanks to all of them; any mistakes belong entirely to me.

I'm particularly grateful to the people who lived in Northwood, North Dakota, in the late fifties and early sixties—every last one of
them.

As always, I'm grateful to my wife, Felicia Herman, and my daughters, Judy and Rachel, for things that have both much and little
to do with the work at hand.

PROLOGUE


In the House of Flame
Flame Melts Ice, Wind Snuffs Flame, Stone Blocks Wind, Ice Cracks Stone,

(repeat four times, then:)

Sky Rules All, Sky Rules All, Sky Rules All, Sky Rules All.

—Middle Dominion children's song, sung in time to the bouncing of a ball

“Stasis," the Fire Duke said, pronouncing the word like a curse. "I have had my fill of stasis, and then some."

"Almost as much as you've had your fill of His Solidity, perhaps?" Rodic del Renald inclined his head. It wouldn't have been politic
to observe that having his fill and then more was clearly a habit of the fat duke. A smattering of presumption went well with
Rodic's profession and position, but only a smattering.

Besides, to be fair, the Fire Duke, Lord of Falias, wore his fat well. Maneuvering his vast bulk with a grace that still surprised the
son of Renald, even after all the years of occasional service to His Warmth, the fat man rose to his feet and walked to the broad
expanse of window, his hands clasped at his waist, as though he could hold any problem to him and crush it.

Which is perhaps true for any problem His Warmth can wrap his hands about, Rodic del Renald thought. Not that it would do any
good here and now. Back before he had become duke, back when the future His Warmth was merely Anegir del Denegir, back when
he was only the second son of the late His Warmth, he had been thought rather straightforward, for someone of his lineage.

That had changed, but perhaps not as much as His Warmth would have wished. There's only so much about yourself you can