"Fancher, Jane - Rings 1 - Ring Of Lightning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fancher Jane S)

It gained the innermost stone . . .
And died.
Unnoticed.
Unappreciated.
(Sigh.)
Ignored.
And, as yet another leythium strand quivered in sympa-
thetic resonance to the firestorm raging above. Mother kin-
dled another . . . event.
5ECTIOtt
OME
The impending deluge erupted just as Deymorin Rhomandi
dunMheric raced beneath the palisade gate that marked the
Rhomatum umbrella's outermost perimeter. A single stride
within, Deymorin's horse, wise to the idiosyncrasies of the
City and disdaining anything so plebeian as a signal from
his rider, shd to a plunging, bucking halt, spraying sand and
gravel over the gate attendants scattering from his path.
Deymorin himself, wise to the idiosyncrasies of his horse
(having raised him from a fractious colt), lifted a careless
hand to stop the single, brave (but ill-advised) soul who
rushed forward to help control Ringer's extravagant dis-
play. Having failed to unseat his rider, the horse froze, four
feet square, then shook from toe to tail, as if the handful
of drops that had pelted them at the last had drenched him
to the skin.
"Silly creature," Deymorin murmured fondly, and leaned
forward to slap the sweat-darkened neck. When he straight-
ened, it was as if every vertebra snapped and grated before
settling into place. He gave his aching shoulders a backward
stretch, signalled his thanks to the alert gatekeep, who'd
had the gate open and waiting by the time he reached it,
and sent Ringer on toward the stables with a gentle pres-
sure of leg and rein.
Outside the palisade the air was roihng grey and deluge;
here, at the power umbrella's outermost edge, where only
the smallest, simplest and purest leythium crystal would
glow, the glimmer of sun through broken clouds cast the
occasional shadow; shadows whose midafternoon length re-
minded him of his woefully belated arrival.
Easy enough to find excuses, if excuses he desired. Ex-
cuses Nikki would understand: the weanling cull running a
month late, the overall high quality of the foals making the
choice of which to keep and which to sell nearly impossible:
a fact that would please him, once he'd had time to con-
sider; and there was desperately needed hay that lay curing
in the fields about to be storm-flooded, and a prize brood-
mare in danger of aborting what might well be her last
foal...
Time-critical problems, all of them. Small wonder Tonio's