"Mercedes Lackey - Mage Storms 1 - Storm Warning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

This was a good little gelding, and someone had trained it well before tithing it to
Vkandis Sunlord. The sun shone on a perfect, glossy coat, skin without scars or
disease, an eye bright with intelligence. Karal had no idea why the geldingтАЩs first
owner had sent it in as part of his tithe, but it was obviously someone who took his
duty to the Sunlord seriously, sending тАЬthe first and best fruits of his laborтАЭ as the Writ
urged, rather than trying to cheat as so many did, sending only the unwanted and
unusable.
A good thing for both of us that they did, Trenor.
The gelding was too small and light to go to the cavalry, and too nervous for a
scout or skirmisher, so it had gone to the Temple. Karal had known quality horseflesh
when he saw it, and requisitioned this youngster the moment his master and mentor
suggested that he was entitled to a mount of some kind from the Temple herds.
This gelding was a lovely bay, otherwise perfect except for the slight flaw of high-
bred nerves, and heтАЩd named it after his little brother Trenor, who danced in place in
much the same way when he was nervous. Trenor the gelding was, without a doubt,
the best piece of horseflesh currently in the novicesтАЩ stables, and every time he rode
the gelding, Karal gloated a little under the envious eyes of his fellow novices. None
of them were mounted nearly as well as he, although the horses they had
requisitioned might look more impressive than little Trenor. They were gentlemen for
the most part, and were certainly above choosing their own mounts - assuming any
of them could tell a spavined breakdown from a sweet little palfrey like this one. And
none of them would have stooped to asking for his advice. Doubtless, they had sent
servants down to the stables, with orders to select beasts тАЬsuited to their station.тАЭ
Well, they paid the penalty of pride in their rumps, every time they rode, for the rest of
the horses in the stables were a collection of sorry misfits. Most of them were showy
pieces, huge creatures with long manes and tails, rejected from some noble warriorтАЩs
string. Yes, they were lovely to look at, shiny and high-stepping, but they had iron
mouths, bad tempers, or gaits that were pure torture to sit.
Not that all these traits were incurable. Karal could have settled an iron mouth or a
bad temper quickly enough - but why should he, when his fellow novices neither
asked for his help nor deserved it? Let the others suffer; Sunlord knew theyтАЩd made
him suffer in other ways all through his training.
But that was behind him now. By the time he completed this assignment as his
mentorтАЩs secretary, he would be a full Priest of Vkandis, and the equal of anyone in
Karse save the Son of the Sun herself. No one could deny him that rank, no matter
what his antecedents were.
He squinted up at the sun in the cloudless sky above. We are all equal in VkandisтАЩ
Light, he reminded himself. Oh, surely, and cows will take to the air and soar like
falcons any day now!
Trenor tried to dance, this time with impatience, but Karal held him steady, and
soothed him with a wordless croon.
How long had it been since heтАЩd seen the human version of this fidgeting bundle of
nerves? Three years? No, it was only two.
But if this Valdemaran escort doesnтАЩt show up, he may be grown before we ever
see home again!
It was an exaggeration, of course, but it felt as if he had been standing here for
days beneath the carefully dispassionate gaze of these two young men in their blue
and silver uniforms. He and Ulrich waited on a stretch of newly-cut road that was only
a few leagues long, one of the tangible evidences of peace with Valdemar. These bits
of roadway linked Karse and its former enemy, bridging the distance from a Karsite