"Kate Forsyth - Eileanan 05 - The Skull Of The World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forsyth Kate)

The Spinning Wheel Turns




The First Blow
On the Spine of the World winter comes snapping and snarling like a wolf. The wind shrieks white for
days, until snow shrouds the landscape and icicles hang like fangs from the mouth of the cave. In winter
the world is reduced to absolutes of black or white, death or life, bitter cold or burning hot.

Inside the cave the bonfire leaped high, casting grotesque shadows over the intent faces and still bodies
of the Khan'cohbans. They sat cross-legged in a wide circle, watching two figures who circled each other
warily. There was no sound save the wail of the storm and the soft slap of the combatants' feet on the
stone.

Isabeau crouched low, her eyes flickering over the face and stance of the warrior opposite her. He was
much taller than she was, with two heavy curling horns on either side of his massive brow. He carried a
long wooden stave, its metal ends "flashing red as they spun in the firelight.

Faster than thought, the staff drove for Isabeau's shoulder but she threw herself to the right in a low dive,
rolled and was on her feet again, just as the wooden stave cracked against the rock mere inches from
where she had landed. Her staff was already swinging upward in response. The warrior swayed away as
fluidly as water. Isabeau almost overbalanced as the wood connected with nothing but air. As she
recovered he spun on the ball of one foot and struck her hard with the other, just below the junction of
her ribs. She fell heavily, the breath knocked out of her. More painful than the impact was the
disappointment. Only a few seconds into the contest and already she had received her first blow. Two
more and the competition would end, with Isabeau humiliated before her pride.

She rolled and sprang to her feet, her staff flying up. The warrior's staff hammered into it, almost
knocking her down again. Her fingers stung, but she only gripped her staff tighter, turning and thrusting it
up to try and slide under his guard. It was like ramming the wind. He simply twisted away, turning a
cartwheel that took him well out of her reach.

He was striking at her again before she had a chance to recover her breath, swift as a snake. She swayed
first one way, then another, evading his blows, every sense in her body straining to anticipate his next
move. Her teacher had told her, "Become one with your enemy. When your heart beats with his and your
minds move together, only then can you know what his next move will be."

Isabeau breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth, endeavoring to control her
breath and with it that intangible essence the Khan'cohbans called coh. Like many words in the
Khan'cohban language, coh had many subtleties of meaning. God, lifedeath energy, spirit. What the
witches called the One Power, the source of all life, all magic. Ea.

She felt her heart and her veins fill with power as her lungs filled with air. For minutes they fought as if
they were partners in an elaborate dance, wooden staves whistling as they spun through the air.
Isa-beau's Scarred Warrior teacher smiled in satisfaction. Then Isabeau was knocked flying again, and
his mouth compressed grimly.

But then Isabeau brought her staff around in a low sweeping movement that knocked the Scarred