"Robert Jordan - Wheel of Time 11 - Knife of Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

face, but he smiled with self-assurance, seemingly untroubled by the
slash on his forearm, still the only injury he had taken. Galad could
feel the sweat rolling down his own face, too, stinging his eyes. And
the blood trickling down his arm. Those wounds would slow him
eventually, perhaps already had, but he had taken two on his left thigh,
and both were more serious. His foot was wet in his boot from those, and
he could not avoid a slight limp that would grow worse with time. If
Valda was to die, it must be soon.

Deliberately, he drew a deep breath, then another, through his mouth,
another. Let Valda think him becoming winded. His blade lanced out in
Threading the Needle, aimed at ValdaТs left shoulder and not quite as
fast it could have been. The other man countered easily with the Swallow
Takes Flight, sliding immediately into the Lion Springs. That took a
third bite in his thigh; he dared not be faster in defense than in attack.

Again he launched Threading the Needle at ValdaТs shoulder, and again,
again, all the while gulping air through his mouth. Only luck kept him
from taking more wounds in those exchanges. Or perhaps the Light really
did shine on this fight.

ValdaТs smile widened; the man believed him on the edge of his strength,
exhausted and fixated. As Galad began Threading the Needle, too slowly,
for the fifth time, the other manТs sword started the Swallow Takes
Flight in an almost perfunctory manner. Summoning all the quickness that
remained to him, Galad altered his stroke, and Reaping the Barley sliced
across Valda just beneath his rib cage.

For a moment it seemed that the man was unaware he had been hit. He took
a step, began what might have been Stones Falling from the Cliff. Then
his eyes widened, and he staggered, the sword falling from his grip to
clatter on the paving stones as he sank to his knees. His hands went to
the huge gash across his body as though trying to hold his insides
within him, and his mouth opened, glassy eyes fixed on GaladТs face.
Whatever he intended to say, it was blood that poured out over his chin.
He toppled onto his face and lay still.

Automatically, Galad gave his blade a rapid twist to shake off the blood
staining its last inch, then bent slowly to wipe the last drops onto
ValdaТs white coat. The pain he had ignored now flared. His left
shoulder and arm burned; his thigh seemed to be on fire. Straightening
took effort. Perhaps he was nearer exhaustion than he had thought. How
long had they fought? He had thought he would feel satisfaction that his
mother had been avenged, but all he felt was emptiness. ValdaТs death
was not enough. Nothing except Morgase Trakand alive again could be enough.

Suddenly he became aware of a rhythmic clapping and looked up to see the
Children, each man slapping his own armored shoulder in approval. Every
man. Except Asunawa and the Questioners. They were nowhere to be seen.