Робин Хобб – Renegade’s Magic (страница 1)
Renegade’s Magic
Book Three of the Soldier Son Trilogy
Robin Hobb
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper
Published by Harper
Copyright © Robin Hobb 2007
Cover illustration © Jackie Morris
Map by Andrew Ashton
Robin Hobb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollins
Source ISBN: 9780007196203
Ebook Edition © SEPTEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780007283446
Version: 2017-06-30
Contents
One: Soldier’s End
Two: Flight
Three: Lisana
Four: Mage Work
Five: The Other Side
Six: Confrontations
Seven: Epiny’s Ultimatum
Eight: Quick-walk
Nine: Journey in Darkness
Ten: Dream-walker
Eleven: The Wintering Place
Twelve: Trade Goods
Thirteen: Hoarding
Fourteen: The Trading Place
Fifteen: The Invitation
Sixteen: Kinrove
Seventeen: Treachery
Eighteen: Boxed
Nineteen: The Summoning
Twenty: The Warning
Twenty-One: Massacre
Twenty-Two: Retreat
Twenty-Three: Tidings
Twenty-Four: Resolutions
Twenty-Five: Decisions
Twenty-Six: The Dance
Twenty-Seven: The Tree
Twenty-Eight: Emergence
Twenty-Nine: Dead Man’s Quest
Thirty: Reunion
Thirty-One: Lives in the Balance
Thirty-Two: Decisions and Consequences
Thirty-Three: Face to Face
Thirty-Four: Retrospection
I never spoke up for myself at my court martial.
I stood in the box where they put me, and tried not to think of the agonizing bite of the leg irons around my calves. They were too small for a man of my flesh, and the cold iron bit deep into the meat of my legs, burning and numbing at the same time. At the moment, the pain mattered to me more than the outcome of the hearing. I already knew how it would end.
That pain is chiefly what I remember of my trial. It hazes my memories in red. A number of witnesses spoke against me. I recall their righteous voices as they detailed my crimes to the assembled judges. Rape. Murder. Necrophilia. Desecration of a graveyard. My outrage and horror at being accused of such things had been eroded by the utter hopelessness of my situation. Witness after witness spoke against me. Threads of rumour, hearsay from a dead man’s lips, suspicions and circumstantial evidence were twisted together into a rope of evidence stout enough to hang me.