"Mercedes Lackey - Last Herald Mage 3 - Magic's Price" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

Sweat ran down Herald Vanyel's back, and his ankle hurt a little - he hadn't twisted it, quite,
when he'd slipped on the wooden floor of the salle back at the beginning of this bout, but it was still
bothering him five exchanges later.
A point of weakness, and one he'd better be aware of, because his opponent was watching for
such signs of weakness, sure as the sun rose.
He watched his adversary's eyes within the shadows of his helm. Watch the eyes, he
remembered Jervis saying, over and over. The eyes will tell you what the hands won't. So he studied
those half-hidden eyes, and tried to hide his entire body behind the quillons of his blade.
The eyes warned him, narrowing and glancing to the left just before Tantras moved. Vanyel was
ready for him.
Experience told him, just before their blades touched, that this would be the last exchange. He
lunged toward Tantras instead of retreating as Tran was obviously expecting, engaged and bound the
other's blade, and disarmed him, all in the space of a breath.
The practice blade clattered onto the floor as Tantras shook his now-empty hand, swearing.
"Stung, did it?" Vanyel said. He straightened, and pulled at the tie holding his hair out of his eyes,
letting it fall loose in damp strands. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get quite so vigorous. But you are out of
shape, Tran."
"I don't suppose you'd accept getting old as an excuse?" Tantras asked hopefully, as he took off
his gloves and examined the abused ringers.
Vanyel snorted. "Not a chance. Bard Breda is old enough to be my mother, and she regularly
runs me around the salle. You are woefully out of condition."
The other Herald pulled off his helm, and laughed ruefully. "You're right. Being Seneschal's
Herald may be high in status, but it's low in exercise."
"Spar with my nephew Medren," Vanyel replied. "If you think I'm fast, you should see him.
That'll keep you in shape." He unbuckled his practice gambeson while he spoke, leaving it in a pile of
other equipment that needed cleaning up against the wall of the salle.
"I'll do that." Tantras was slower in freeing himself from the heavier armor he wore. "The gods
know I may need to face somebody using that cut-and-run style of yours some day, so I might as well
get used to fights that are half race and half combat. And entirely unorthodox."
"That's me, unorthodox to the core." Vanyel racked his practice sword and headed for the door
of the salle. "Thanks for the workout, Tran. After this morning, I needed it."
The cool air hit his sweaty skin as he opened the door; it felt wonderful. So good, in fact, that
between his reluctance to return to the Palace and the fresh crispness of the early morning, he decided to
take a roundabout way back to his room. One that would take him away from people. One that would,
for a moment perhaps, take his mind off things as well as his bout with Tantras had.
He headed for the paths to the Palace gardens.
Full-throated birdsong spiraled up into the empty sky. Vanyel let his thoughts drift away,
following the warbling notes, leaving every weighty problem behind him until his mind was as empty as
the air above -
:Van, wake up! Your feet are soaked!: Yfandes' mind-voice sounded rather aggrieved. :And
you're chilling yourself. You're going to catch a cold.:
Herald-Mage Vanyel blinked, and stared down at the dew-laden grass of the neglected garden.
He couldn't actually see his feet, hidden as they were by the long, dank, dead grass - but he could feel
them, now that 'Fandes had called his attention back to reality. He'd come out here wearing his soft
suede indoor boots - they'd been perfect for sparring with Tran, but now -
:They are undoubtedly ruined,: she said acidly.
She sounded so like his aunt, Herald-Mage Savil, that he had to smile. "Won't be the first pair of
boots I've ruined, sweetheart," he replied mildly. His feet were very wet. And very cold. A week ago it
wouldn't have been dew out here, it would have been frost. But Spring was well on the way now; the
grass was greening under the dead growth of last year, there were young leaves unfolding on every