"Robin Hobb - Assassin 1 - Assassin' s Apprentice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hobb Robin)

gossip."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You, boy." Brant was already hurrying up the path as she rounded on me.
"Follow me."
The old woman didn't wait to see if I obeyed or not. She simply set out at a
businesslike walk across the open practice fields that had me trotting to keep
up. The packed earth of the field was baked hard and the sun beat down on my
shoulders. Almost instantly, I was sweating. But the woman appeared to find no
discomfort in her rapid pace.
She was dressed all in gray: a long dark gray overtunic, lighter gray
leggings, and over all a gray apron of leather that came nearly to her knees. A
gardener of some sort, I surmised, though I wondered at the soft gray boots she
wore.
"I've been sent for lessons ... with Hod," I managed to pant out.
She nodded curtly. We reached the shade of the armory and my eyes widened
gratefully after the glare of the open courts.
"I'm to be taught arms and weaponry," I told her, just in case she had
mistaken my original words.
She nodded again and pushed open a door in the bamlike structure that was the
outer armory. Here, I knew, the practice weapons were kept. The good iron and
steel were up in the keep itself. Within the armory was a gentle halflight, and
a slight coolness, along with a smell of wood and sweat and fresh strewn reeds.
She did not hesitate, and I followed her to a rack that supported a supply of
peeled poles.
"Choose one," she told me, the first words she'd spoken since directing me to
follow her.
"Hadn't I better wait for Hod?" I asked timidly.
"I am Hod," she replied impatiently. "Now pick yourself a stave, boy. I want
a bit of time alone with you, before the others come. To see what you're made of
and what you know."
It did not take her long to establish that I knew next to nothing and was
easily daunted. After but a few knocks and parries with her own brown rod, she
easily caught mine a clip that sent it spinning from my stung hands.
"Hm," she said, not harshly nor kindly. The same sort of noise a gardener
might make over a seed potato that had a bit of blight on it. I quested out
toward her and found the same sort of quietness I'd encountered in the mare. She



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had none of Burrich's guardedness toward me. I think it was the first time I
realized that some people, like some animals, were totally unaware of my
reaching out toward them. I might have quested farther into her mind, except
that I was so relieved at not finding any hostility that I feared to stir any.
So I stood small and still before her inspection.
"Boy, what are you called?" she demanded suddenly.
Again. "Fitz."
She frowned at my soft words. I drew myself up straighter and spoke louder.