"Jim Farris - Mage 4 - The Wench of Woe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farris Jim)

Malik lifted his head, gazing into the woman's green eyes. For a moment, his words caught in his
throat. She was radiantly beautiful. His own people, the Vilandians, were an auburn people, their skins
bronzed by the sun for those who worked outdoors most of the year. She, on the other hand, had skin
like cream, and hair like fire. The metal-scales of her armor gleamed like fine mithril, a second, metal
skin, and she bore a long, spirally fluted lance in her right hand. Six cubits in length, it was not the
handiwork of man, but looked more like the long, slim horn of some fantastic beast. Cuffed, calf-high
boots of a soft leather graced the feet that clung lightly to the steed, and cuffed, forearm-length gloves of
a similar material graced her hands. And yet, as beautiful as she was, the steed was equally as fearsome.




It was a lean beast, and apparently a mare. Yet, there the resemblance between it and ordinary horses
ended. The woman rode the mare bareback - but, this did not seem to be a beast who would permit a
saddle, anyway. The mare's coat was the color of night, and seemed to almost absorb the sunlight which
fell upon it from the cloudy skies. Her eyes flashed with a red, hellish fire, and a trickle of smoke came
from her nostrils as she panted from the run. Her hooves gleamed like black steel, and she flicked her tail
in agitation as she awaited the outcome of this encounter. And more, the mare gazed at the old man not
with the look of a dumb beast, or even the restrained aggression of a war-trained steed - no, she gazed
upon the old man with intelligence... And hostility.




Malik ran a trembling hand over his bald pate before replying. "Yes, I did. I know it was wrong, now.
I did at the time, as well... But I was angry. Now, I am old, and I have had time to reflect on the deeds of
my life... Time enough to regret..." he said, then sighed, and hung his head again. "I am sorry."




"Bah. He is sorry," the mare said, her voice feminine, yet eerily hollow and unearthly. "I suppose
that makes it all better, now, and we can be on our way."




"Hardly," the woman replied, and slipped from the mare's back, to stand before Malik. With a
precision showing years of skill, she flicked the sharp tip of her lance beneath Malik's chin, tapping it to
get him to lift his head.




Malik said nothing, simply gazing at her.