"Alex Irvine - Wizard's Six" - читать интересную книгу автора (Irvine Alexander C)

are beyond my reach. Paulus looked at his hands and wondered what they
remembered. He had paid good silver for his forgetfulness, but no wizard had yet
charmed the curiosity out of man or woman, or the desire. PaulusтАЩ brother was
ample evidence of that.
2
Days passed, and fell from memory with the sunset. Paulus saw no one, and
stopped remembering his dreams. He was well into the second range of mountains,
leading Brown on a foot trail skirting snow-buried canyons, when he found the
apprenticeтАЩs third. He saw smoke funneling out of a crevice on the canyon wall, and
found a cave entrance below it. Calling in, he roused an old hermit and described
Myros. тАЬYes,тАЭ the hermit nodded, and invited Paulus in for hot water and flat bread.
тАЬHe was here. And yes, he spoke to my lad and moved on. Quite a soft one to be
this deep in the mountains.тАЭ
Paulus thought, but did not say, that there were many kinds of hardness.
тАЬAnd he would not eat, nor drink,тАЭ the hermit went on. Paulus watched his
fingers, how they moved through the silent catechism of the hermitтАЩs god. Nine
beads on a catgut string, a sacred abacus ticking off the arithmetic of holiness. I will
pray after, Paulus thought. Not now.
тАЬI thank you for your welcome,тАЭ he said.
The hermit did not acknowledge this. тАЬWizards,тАЭ he grumbled, and spat into
the fire.
тАЬMyros is not yet a wizard,тАЭ Paulus said. тАЬI am sent to make sure he never
will be.тАЭ
In the hermitтАЩs eyes, Paulus saw suspicion. And something else; their
expression teased at a memory, irritating like a hair on the back of the tongue. Eyes
like gray stones, they put him in mind of something, stirred echoes of a kind of love
that he could not remember feeling since he was a boy.
тАЬIf you are following him,тАЭ the hermit said, тАЬwhat does it matter whether he
spoke to my lad?тАЭ
You have not been gone from inhabited places as long as all that, old man,
thought Paulus. тАЬI need to know if he is collecting,тАЭ he said, and might have said
more but the hermit threw hot water in his face and at the same time someone caught
hold of his hair from behind. He threw a forearm across his throat and felt the impact
of the blade, and then burning as the hermit kicked the embers of the fire across his
leggings. Paulus scissored his legs, scattering the coals back toward the hermit, and
with his left hand gripped the wrist of whoever had hold of his hair. The blade
caught him on the cheek, and with an animal roar he squeezed until he felt bones
snap. The grip on his hair loosened, and he pivoted to his feet, twisting the arm and
breaking it again before he saw that he held a long-haired boy of perhaps thirteen,
face twisted with hate and fear and pain. Paulus let him go, and the boy sprang up
with the knife again. Stepping to his right, Paulus slapped the knife hand down and
punched the boy hard on the left temple, knocking him straight down into the
packed-earth floor, where he lay motionless save for a slow movement of his lips.
Looking over his shoulder, Paulus saw the hermit brandishing a burning
branch. I have tried lies, and I have tried truth, he thought. This time he did not
speak at all.
****
The next morning, in the sunny mouth of a snow cave near a frozen creek,
Paulus ran his fingers carefully along his wounds. He had done this the night before,
but could not credit what his fingertips reported. His cheek was unmarked, though