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

her will it a little too hard, for her view abruptly cleared. Ah, so they ‘ve caught someone.
The prisoner’s arms were stretched up over his head, his wrists bound to one of the supports for the
crane. One of the raiders came toward him and he jerked up his legs and kicked his captor in the
stomach, sending him flying backward. Not quite helpless, she thought, amused. Two other rivermen
dived at him, grabbing his legs and lashing him to the lower part of the frame.
He was probably a traveller trapped and caught somewhere along the river. That was why the
Ancestors had guided her steps here.
So I’m not too disobedient to make use of, she grumbled to herself, making her way down the
crowded gallery and clearing a path with occasional sharp pokes from her staff. The raiders were
beginning to point and nudge each other, her presence finally penetrating the haze of liquor and bloodlust.
Because of the tattered state of her clothes and her staff, they would think her a travelling nun. Unless
they could read the Koshan symbols in the silver embedded in the wood, and she doubted that was a
possibility. Maskelle looked around thoughtfully. She didn’t think she could kill all of them, and she had
taken an oath not to do that sort of thing anymore, but she thought she could manage a distraction.
 One of the rivermen standing on the platform was holding a sword, a real one, not one of the long
knives the other raiders were armed with. The greasy light reflected off the dark etching on the wavy
blade and Maskelle frowned a little. That was a siri. The brightwork on the hilt wasn’t much tarnished yet
so it must have come from the prisoner. It meant he wasn’t native to the river country; several of the
southern provinces used the siri and it wasn’t common here in the heart of the lowlands.
The Kushorit, the main stock of the Celestial Empire, also tended to be small, dark and compactly
built, and the prisoner was tall, rangy lean, and sharp-featured. Maskelle was an aberration herself,
having outer reaches blood in her family and being tall and long-limbed because of it. He was about ten
or fifteen years younger than Maskelle, which, she was uncomfortably aware, still made him a man
grown. He wore a sleeveless shirt and leather leggings, torn and dirty from what had obviously been a
hard battle, and the blue and red designs stamped into his leather swordbelt and buskins had faded from
long exposure to the sun. His hair was shaggy brown with streaks of blond and one long tightly braided
lock hung past his shoulder.
The river raiders wore assorted scraps of leather or lacquered armor and tattered silk finery. The
woman who seemed to be the leader had a battered helmet with a crest shaped into the head of a killing
bird, obviously taken off some wealthy victim. She was big and muscular, an old knife scar slashing
across already harsh features. She strode to the edge of the platform and glared down at Maskelle.
“What do you want here, Sister?”
Yes, you’re so terribly dangerous, Maskelle thought, smiling indulgently. I tremble, really I do.
Dangling over the platform, the ropes to control the crane were worn and tangled, and it looked like the
counterweight, a leather sack of iron ingots, was the only thing that was keeping the massive wooden arm
from collapsing. That will do nicely. She leaned on her staff. “I come to offer blessing, my child.”
The woman stared, then grinned back at her companions. “We’re unbelievers here, Sister; we’d
curdle your blessing.”
“Not this blessing. It’s just what your sort deserve.” Maskelle felt a dark surge of power under her
feet as she spoke. The river was restless with more than floodwater tonight; it called to her, sensing a
kinship. “But I want something in exchange for it.”
“What’s that?”
“Release that man.” The prisoner was watching her warily, without any show of hope, almost as if he
didn’t recognize her as a Koshan. He didn’t look badly hurt, however, just bruised and beaten.
“Oh, so you want him for yourself, Sister?” the leader said. The others laughed and grinned at each
other.
If you don’t consider the source, it’s not a bad idea, Maskelle thought. He was handsome, in an
exotic way, which was probably why the raiders had saved him to amuse themselves with rather than
killing him immediately. The Koshans only demanded abstinence from initiates during the first three years
of instruction, but it was a common misconception that all members of the Order were celibate.