Название: Grand Conspiracy: Second Book of The Alliance of Light
Автор: Janny Wurts
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Книги о войне
isbn: 9780007318070
isbn:
‘That’s what happens with fleabrains who draw their damned steel in this taproom,’ Parrien quoted in an evil imitation of a southcoaster’s drawling vowels. He grinned wide as the moon, folded his arms, and leaned across the bar top. The muffled grate of metal beneath his loose sleeves betrayed the fact he wore a mail shirt. ‘Don’t tempt me. The bodies you’d toss alongside mine in the midden would be for the dogs, stone dead.’ He measured the spotless, bleached cloth of his cuff as if weighing the cost of the penalty. ‘For that lot, a roll in the garbage might just be worthwhile.’
As a beery new recruit in a sunwheel tunic swiveled to sling return insults, the Fat Pigeon’s landlord scowled. ‘Fighting armed packs of drunks was beneath your family dignity once. Or has your clan honor gone to mayhem along with the peace in this Ath-forsaken port?’
‘So Southshire’s been raided, too?’ Parrien laughed.
‘Three galleys hit, just this past week. Made off with the chained oarsmen and sank every hull without troubling to off-load their cargoes.’ The landlord inclined his head toward the merchants wringing lace sleeves in the company of the Alliance captain. ‘That lot were just hired on with the gold sent for the cause by the Mayor o’ Jaelot’s generosity. So now you know why this joint reeks like a barracks.’
‘Never mind.’ Parrien’s grin broadened. ‘I like my shirts clean and my steel sticky, right enough. That finicky habit’s unlikely to change. Not for as long as I walk on two legs without need of a stick to stop doddering.’
‘What’s to do then? Do I pour you a beer?’ The landlord wiped oversize knuckles on his apron and hefted a crockery mug thick enough to be used for a cudgel.
Parrien folded an elbow, eased the wet rag aside, and leaned close. ‘Beer’s fine.’ His blunt, sword-scarred finger traced a cipher on the dampened wood of the bar, then idly swiped the mark out. ‘Along with the drink, I need a wee dispatch slipped to the next courier who happens through.’
The landlord looked up, his shrewd eyes intense.
That instant, the door to the kitchen banged open. Parrien’s wary start passed unnoticed amid the leaping commotion as a sweaty, cursing drudge barged into the taproom, hauling a yelping cur by the scruff.
The snapping animal and the woman tussled their way toward the streetside exit, while sailhands caught in her path staggered clear. As she passed, the sunwheel mercenaries hooted and pinched, or called noisy wagers to name which combatant would wind up arse down in the gutter.
‘Damned Jaelot thugs have the manners of swine.’ A whipcrack snap of Parrien’s fingers dispatched one of his mercenaries, who took two fast strides and relieved the girl of her problem. The outer door swung closed on the heels of the cur, to a pounding on tables and derogatory hoots of displeasure. Alestron’s swordsman never once turned his head, an astounding display of strong character.
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