"Dean Ing - Firefight Y2K" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

across the mountains beyond Lyris was an emigrant. And one whose slingstone was so unerring that the
missile was kept separate in Urkut's waistpouch, was definitely magical. Indeed, the day before his death
Urkut had bested Dirrach by twice proving the incredible efficacy of his sling. It had come about during
an aurochs hunt in which Bardel, still an impressionable youth, and Boerab, an admirer of Urkut, had
been spectators.

As Thyssa heard it from the laconic Boerab, her father's tracking skill had prompted young Bardel to
proclaim him "almost magical." Dirrach, affronted, had caused a grass fire to appear behind them; though
Boerab left little doubt that he suspected nothing more miraculous in the shaman's ploy than a wisp of
firewick from Dirrach's pack. Challenged to match the grass fire, Urkut had demurred until goaded by
Bardel's amusement.

Slowly (as Thyssa would embroider it, matching her account with remembered pantomime while
gooseflesh crawled on Oroles's body,) the hunter Urkut had withdrawn a rough stone pellet from his
wallet. Carefully, standing in wooden stirrups while his pony danced in uncertainty, Urkut had placed
pellet in slingpouch. Deliberately, staring into Dirrach's face as he whirled the sling, Urkut had made an
odd gesture with his free hand. And then the stone had soared off, not in a flat arrowcourse but in a high
trajectory to thud far off behind a shrub.

Dirrach's booming laughter had stopped abruptly when, dismounting at the shrub, Urkut groped and then
held his arms aloft. In one hand he'd held his slingstone. In the other had been a rabbit.

Outraged by Dirrach's claims of charlatanry, Urkut had done it again; this time eyes closed, suggesting
that Boerab retrieve stone and quarry.

And this time Boerab had found a magnificent cock pheasant quivering beside the slingstone, and Urkut
had sagaciously denied any miraculous powers while putting his slingstone away. It was merely a trick,
he'd averred; the magic of hand and eye (this with a meaningful gaze toward Dirrach). And young Bardel
had bidden Urkut sup at the castle that night. And Urkut had complied.

And Urkut had died in his cottage during the night, in agony, clutching his belly as Thyssa wept over him.
To this day, even Dirrach would admit that the emigrant Urkut had been in some small way a shaman.
Especially Dirrach; for he could also point out that mana was lethal to those who could not control it
properly.

Now, with a sigh for memories of a time when she was not an orphan, Thyssa said to the aged Panon:
"Father always said the mana was in the slingstone, not in him. And it must have been true, for the pellet
vanished like smoke after his death."

"Or so the shaman says," Panon growled. "He who took charge of Urkut's body and waistpouch as
well. I heard, Thyssa. And I watch DirrachтАФalmost as carefully ashe watchesyou." The fisherman chose
two specimens from his catch; one suitable for a stew, the other large enough to fillet. "Here: an
Oroles'-worth, and a Thyssa-worth."

The girl thanked him with a hug, gathered the fish in her leather shift, leapt from raft to shore with a flash
of lithe limbs. "May you one day catch a Panon-worth," she called gaily, and took the hand of Oroles.

"He watches you, girl," old Panon's voice followed her toward the palisades of Tihan. "Take care." She
waved and continued. Dirrach watched everybody, she told herself. What special interest could the
shaman possibly have in an orphaned peasant girl?