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

gentle reminder early this morning had caught him un-
awares and at his stud farm, Darhaven, rather than in
Rhomatum.
Small wonder, but unforgivable: older brothers had . . .
obligations.
And the morning of the eighteenth day of the first month
of the year 317 should have found Deymorin Rhomandi
dunMheric, brother of Nikaenor Rhomandi dunMheric, if
not in Rhomatum itself, at least at the valley estate, Ar-
mayel. When a man's family owned multiple seats, a man
really ought to make use of them.
Darhaven was in the foothills, two sensible days' ride
from Rhomatum; Armayel, an easy morning's jaunt. Nikki
would have understood his sleeping over at Armayel to
minimize his time in the City; Nikki would never have for-
given him missing tonight's festivities altogether.
Well, he hadn't spent the night at Armayel, but he wasn't
going to miss the party either, though he might well fall
asleep in the middle of dinner. It had required his best and
bravesthe ran a grateful hand down the sweating arch of
mane and muscleto get him here at even this truant hour.
He tightened his legs and Ringer surged willingly into a
jogtrot, the fastest pace the law allowed within the palisade.
The horse was tired, as Deymorin himself was, but eager
for the warmth and comfort awaiting him in the stables.
If only, Deymorin thought as he ducked to miss the low
beam at the barn's back entrance, Ringer's rider felt a simi-
lar anticipation toward his own . . . stable.
A nickering duet greeted him as he eased numb feet to
the packed and raked ground outside the tackroom, and
fluttering nostrils on two near-identical black-nosed heads
with identical white stars appeared over neighboring stall
doors. He dropped Ringer's reins and palmed a handful of
dried apple treats from the pouch hanging just within the
tackroom door, a move that raised an expectant rustle be-
hind him.
"Don't even think it," he said, without turning.
With a dejected whoof, that sense of horse at his shoulder
disappeared. Ignoring the big bay gelding, he limped across
the aisle to the greys' stalls, speaking softly to them,
scratching the snip on Storm's nose, the tiny scar on Ash-
ley'sthe only notable difference between themhis eyes
reflexively noting their condition.
They were undoubtedly the best matched team ever bred
at Darhaven, by himself or any of his ancestors.
Theoretically, the greys belonged at Armayel, but some-
how they rarely stayed there for long. Not that he minded:
better here where they'd be exercised and loved than wait-
ing around for his infrequent needs. Personally, he pre-
ferred to rideas had Nikki. Once. Before the boy found