"Martha Wells - Wheel of the Infinite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells Martha)

found herself eye to eye with the swordsman; they were exactly the same height.
He was watching her with an air of irony. He said, “The priests sent him to kill you because you’re a
wizard.”
“The priests didn’t send him,” she said, mock patiently. “And ‘wizard’ is a barbarian word.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, then suddenly turned, drawing the siri, facing the open area beyond
the wagon. Maskelle stepped back, but she heard the footsteps and shouts a moment later. “Damn it,
that’s the post guard,” she said.
 Rastim was at her elbow. “Hide the body?” he asked, worried.
Maskelle hesitated. The Ariaden didn’t look like much of a match for an armed troop, but their
profession made them quick-witted and used to moving swiftly in concert. Having seen them in action
when the upper-level scenery had started to come apart during the climax of the performance of Otranto
in Hisak City, she had no doubt of their ability to hide a fresh corpse from even a determined troop of
guards. “Yes, hide the body.”
Rastim whirled around and gestured quickly. Her swordsman hopped out of the way as Gardick,
Vani, and Firac descended on the boy’s body. They swept it away and into Rastim’s wagon before the
first of the guards came into view.
There were about ten of them, surrounding the wagons at a run. The Ariaden, who knew what part
they had to play, milled around near the fire, looking as if nothing odd had happened.
One guard came forward and Maskelle went to meet him, leaning on her staff.
If he was the captain, he was surprisingly young. And he had intelligent eyes, not something she was
glad to see. He said, “There was report of a disturbance here, Revered.”
“Oh, you mean, the screaming and thrashing around? They were rehearsing their next theatrical, that’s
all,” Maskelle said, smiling, gesturing casually back at the Ariaden, who were doing a good imitation of a
disturbed henroost. A rehearsal in the middle of the night, after a grueling day’s travel and a long play. At
least it wasn’t pouring down rain.
Not surprisingly, this explanation failed to satisfy. He eyed her a moment, then said, “Who is that?”
“What?” Maskelle glanced behind her and almost dropped her staff. She had fully expected the
swordsman to disappear; he had had more than enough time. But he was standing a few paces behind
her. He had, at least, sheathed the siri. “Oh. him.” She looked back at the guard captain. “He’s—”
Rastim materialized beside her. “We hired him to protect us on the road.”
Maskelle bit her tongue and managed to retain her smile. She had been about to say that he was just
another traveller in the compound, drawn by the commotion. She reminded herself to tell Rastim that she
had been lying to authority before he was conceived.
The guard captain said, “Then you don’t mind if we look around?”
“Not at all.” Maskelle shrugged.
Rastim gestured expansively. “Go right ahead.”
He turned and called to his men. “Search the wagons.”
So that’s how it is. Maskelle still kept her smile, despite the irrational urge to anger. She had planned
for this, hadn’t she?
The other guards moved forward. Maskelle turned back to the wagons and found herself facing her
swordsman again. He was looking at the guards with an intent expression that she had previously seen
only on cats waiting for unwise lizards to venture out of woodwork, and he had his hand on the hilt of the
siri. She waited until he met her eyes, and said, “Don’t draw that.”
His expression said plainly that she was mad, but he took his hand off the swordhilt. Maskelle walked
back to the fire, aware he was following her.
He stood a pace behind her and to the side when she stopped by the fire, and she recognized it as the
position someone who was acting as her bodyguard would rightfully adopt. Maskelle had only managed
to keep soul and body together for the past few years by staying one step ahead of everyone else, or at
least convincing them that she was. He had been helping her since she had found him with the raiders,
and he seemed to think she should know the reason why. Pride and years of conscious and unconscious