"Mercedes Lackey - Last Herald Mage 2 - Magic's Promise" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

bake my sore muscles and wait for the babies to go away. Your father truly
does not mean to hurt you.:
Vanyel sighed, and picked up a meat pie, nibbling the flaky crust listlessly.
:I know that. It doesn't stop it from hurting. If I weren't so tired, it probably
wouldn 't hurt as much. If I weren't so tired, it might even be funny,: He
swallowed another gulp of wine, painfully aware that even the simple act of
chewing was becoming an effort He put the pie down.
:You have nothing left,: she stated. :No reserves at all. :
:That's ridiculous, love. It's just that last push we made. And if I haven't
anything left, then neither have you-:
:Not true. I may be spent physically, but you are spent emotionally,
magically, mentally. Chosen, beloved, you have not spared yourself since
Elspeth Peacemaker died.:
:That's because nobody had a choice,: he reminded her, reaching for a
piece of cheese, but holding it up and staring at it, not eating it, seeing other
times and places.
:Everybody else has been pushed just as hard. The moment poor
Randale took the throne that fragile peace she had made for us fell to pieces.
We had no warning it was going to come to that. Mardic and Donni-:
The cold hand of grief choked his throat. The lifebonded couple who had
been such steadfast friends and supporters to him had been two of the first
victims of the Karsite attacks. He could feel the echo of his grief in the
mourning of Yfandes' mind-voice.
:Poor children. Goddess hold them-:
:'Fandes - at least they died together. I - could wish-: he cut off the thought
before he could distress her. He contemplated the white wedge of cheese in
his hand as if he had never seen anything like it, and then blinked, and began
nibbling at it, trying to force the food around the knot of sorrow blocking his
throat. He had to eat. He'd been surviving on handfuls of parched corn, dried
fruit, and dried beef for too long. He had to get his strength back. It wouldn't
be long before Randale would need him again. Well, all he really needed was
a couple of weeks of steady meals and sleep. . . .
:You ask too much of yourself.:
:Who, me? Strange thoughts from a Companion. Who was it who used to
keep nagging me about duty?: He tried to put a measure of humorous teasing
into his own mind-voice, but it felt flat.
:But you cannot be twenty places at once, Chosen. You are no longer
thinking clearly. :
The cheese had finally migrated inside him, and most of the lump in his
throat was gone. He sighed and reached for the meat pie again. With enough
wine to help, he might be able to get that down, too.
The trouble was, 'Fandes was right. For the past few months he'd been
reduced to a level where he really wasn't thinking much at all-just
concentrating on each step as it came, and trying to survive it. It had been like
climbing a mountain at the end of a long and grueling race; just worrying
about one handhold at a time. Not thinking about the possibility of falling, and
not able to think about what he'd do when he got to the top. If he got to the
top. If there was a top.
Stupid, Herald. Looking at the bark and never noticing the tree was about
to fall on you.