"Vance, Jack - Alastor 2 - Trullion-2262" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

"To whom?"
"To a man called Junius Farfan. I gave it; he took it; I can't get it back."
"I think that we should go to see Junius Farfan-at this very moment." Glay shook his head.
"Please don't begrudge me this money. You have your share-you are Squire of Rabendary. Let me have
Ambal Isle as my share."
"There's no question of shares, or who owns what," said Glinnes. "You and I both own Rabendary.
It's our home-nlace" "That certainly is a valid point of view," said Glay. "But I choose to think
differently. As I told you before, changes are coming over the land. Glinnes sat back, unable to
find words to convey his indignation. "Let it rest there," said Glay wearily. "I took
Ambal;you've got Rabendary. It's only fair, after all. I'll now move out and leave you in full
enjoyment of your holding." Glinnes tried to cry out a dissent, but the words clogged in his
throat. He could only say, "The choice is yours. I hope you'll change your mind." Glay's response
was a cryptic smile, which Glinnes understood to mean no response at all. "Another matter," said
Glinnes. "What of the Trevanyi yonder?" They are folk I traveled about with-the Drossets. Do you
object to their presence?" "They're your friends. If you insist upon changing your residence, why

not take your friends with you?" "I don't quite know where I'm going," said Glay. "If you want
them gone, simply tell them so. You're Squire of Rabendary, not I."
Marucha spoke from her chair. "He's not squire until we know about Shira!" "Shira is dead,"
said Glay. "Still, Glinnes has no right to come home and instantly make difficulties. I vow, he's
as obstinate as Shira and as hard as his father." Glinnes said, I've made no difficulties. You've
made them. I've got to find twelve thousand ozols somewhere to save Ambal Isle, then evict a band
of Trevanyi before they call in their whole clan. It's lucky I came home when I did, while we've
still got a home." Glay stonily poured himself a mug of apple wine. He seemed only bored . . .
From across the field came a groaning, creaking sound, then a tremendous crash. Glinnes went to
look from the end of the verandah. He turned back to Glay. "Your friends have just cut down one of
our oldest barchnut trees." "One of your trees," said Glay with a faint smile. "You won't ask
them to leave?" "They wouldn't heed me. I owe them favors."*
"Do they have names?" Their names are Ashmor and Harving. The daughter is Duissane. The crone is
Immifalda." Going to his luggage, Glinnes brought forth his service handgun, which he dropped
into his pocket. Glay watched with a sardonic droop to his lips, then muttered something to
Marucha. Glinnes marched off across the meadow. The pleasant pale light of afternoon seemed to
clarify all the close colors and invest the distances with a luminous shimmer. Glinnes’ heart
swelled with many emotions: grief, longing for the old sweet times, anger with Glay which surged
past his attempts to subdue it.
He approached the camp. Six pairs of eyes watched his every step, appraised My every aspect. The
camp was none too clean, although, on the other hand, it was not too dirty; Glinnes had seen
worse. Two fires were burning. At one of these a boy turned a spit stuck full with plump young
wood-hens. A caldron over the other fire emitted an acrid herbal stench: the Drossets were
preparing a batch of Travanyi beer, which eventually colored their eyeballs a startling golden
yellow. The woman stirring the mess was stern and keen-featured. Her hair had been dyed bright red
and hung in two plaits down her back. Glinnes moved to avoid the reek.
A man approached from the fallen tree, where he had been gathering barchnuts. Two hulking young
men ambled behind him. All three wore black breeches tucked into sagging black boots, loose shirts
of beige silk, colored neckerchiefs typical Treyanyi costume. Vang Drosset wore a flat black hat
from which his taffy-colored hair burst forth in exuberant curls. His skin was an odd biscuitbrown;
his eyes glowed yellow, as if illuminated from behind. Altogether an impressive man, and
not a person to be trifled with, thought Glinnes. He said, "You are Vang Drosset? I am Glinnes
Hulden, Squire of Ra-bendary Island. I must ask you to move your camp."
Vang Drosset motioned to his sons, who brought forward a pair of wicker chairs. "Sit and take