"Ardath Mayhar - Shock Treatment" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mayhar Ardath)

ranged over the pasturelands, nibbling wild rosebushes to stubs, ignoring anything that
came or went, and providing a good reason for the figures that moved, cloaked against the autumn chill,
among the odoriferous groups of animals. Their warm bodies misinformed any heat-sensing devices
swept over the fields by occasional flying troops, as well.

Anything less soldierly he could not imagine.



The guard lolled against a rock, a sling in his hand, his pose that of a watchful goatherd. He raised a
hand, recognizing Falville, and nodded toward the General's hut. "Something's in the wind," he murmured
as they went past, ducking beneath the level of the wall. "Coville's been wanting you for hours, now. Best
hurry, and don't take the time to eat or wash." He wrinkled

his nose. "No matter that you need a good wash mightily. Been playing in the mud again?" His grin was
sick, for he, too, knew the stench of the ditches of Tellich.

Falville gestured for his men to fall out and seek their own shelters. They would find food and wash
water, if nothing else, For himself, he would have to wait. When the General called, he went, although
until Standish invaded his country he had been the least biddable of men.

General Coville stood, when all others had fallen or run. Now he alone, with his scattered groups of men
and women, resisted the invaders. For that reason, Falville had given him his loyalty.

The hut was open to the air, its goatskin flap of door flung back and up onto the roof. Even with the chill
of autumn beginning, the shelter of the down protected the spot. That kept the men from freezing, for they
could not afford fires sufficient for all of them. Only a couple, suitable for those who ostensibly tended the
goats, could be allowed, for too much smoke would inevitably bring a probing troop down upon them.

Inside, the dimness blinded him for a moment. Then the reddish glare of the tallow lamp picked out the
faces around the rough table in the center of the room. There was Coville, huddled into his heavy coat,
hands in his pockets, silent, for once. There were Lemmon, the troopmistress, and Shoye, who trained
and quartermastered the resistance, their enigmatic faces cautious and sharp-lit with shadows. And there
was Shemyona Fenn, the Chairwoman, last survivor of the ruling Grange of Tellich.

They were all staring at the woman who stood at the center of the group, gesturing. Her hand halted in
mid-air, as Falville entered. He did not salute, for this was not a formal group, worried about protocol.
They worked together to save what they could of their crops and their people. Nothing else mattered,
and any notion one entertained that might be helpful was welcomed by all, from Fenn to Coville.

"Seven carriers with fresh troops have moved toward the fort on Stormwall, each holding at least fifty
men and their armor. A bitter blow, that will be, when Stormwall falls, as it must. We have too few to
resist for long."

Coville sighed and nodded. "You are right, Falville. But we have another matter to consider. This lady is
the grandmother of Theron Standish. Seleva Karmann, mother of his mother, is here with a most
surprising and useless proposal. And yet I find myself strangely tempted to do what she asks. See if you
agree."

Falville turned to look at the woman, who had halted her speech as he came in. "Lady," he said. "What is