"04 - The Chaos Balance.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

Most of the guards were out in the fields, or down below the ridge in the timber camps. He heard the sound of hammers as he passed the smithy, but he did not stop. He wasn't up for another emotional parting, and Huldran, of all people, would understand. Still ... he put his feet forward, wondering where Istril and Weryl were.
Under the load he carried, despite the muscles developed from smithing, he was sweating and panting when he reached the stable.
Ayrlyn had both mounts saddled and waiting in the shade of the stable door. "You look like chaos. What happened?"
"I had to say good-bye to Dyliess and Kyalynn . . ." He coughed. "I couldn't find Weryl." He dropped the gear in a pile, then lifted the saddlebags and began to strap them in place.
At the thump of the dropped equipment, a chicken scurried away from the stable and uphill toward the shelter that had held the livestock through the long winter.
Ayrlyn lifted the bow. "Won't Ryba be a little angry about this?"
"She said I could take what I needed, that I was so guilt-ridden I'd be fair."
"She has that right," Ayrlyn said softly. "I'm glad you brought it. You've done so much for everyone else. I brought six extra blades-two of your blades, and four small crowbars for trading. Ryba won't miss the crowbars, and you deserve some of your own. You wouldn't bring them, and you might not ever have the chance to forge replacements. They're all packed away. And all my trading silvers."
"Practical woman. I don't think I have more than a half-dozen silvers and a few coppers." The engineer eased the bedroll into place. "I did bring one spare blade, besides the pair."
"Good. I also brought some water bottles for you. You'll need them when we get down into Lornth."
"You still think that's the right way to go?"
Ayrlyn lifted her shoulders as she strapped a water bottle in place. "We go east and run into Karthanos and Gallos, and the easterners feel even nastier than the Lornians. Also, something about the west-"
"Feels better?"
The healer nodded. "I couldn't say why."
"I'll trust a good feeling over sterile reasoning any day, especially here."
"I don't know," mused Ayrlyn. "There's more to the order magic of this world. It's not just feeling. There's a system, somewhere."
"You're talking like an engineer, not a healer."
"Aren't they really the same?"
Nylan laughed, then began to readjust the shoulder harness that would hold his second blade. With one at his waist and the other in the shoulder harness, he should have access to one weapon in any situation. Even as he hoped he didn't have to find out, he knew he would. Candar was that sort of place.
After he tightened the harness and checked his ability to draw the blade easily, he looked at Ayrlyn. "Are you ready?"
Ayrlyn glanced out the open stable door and down the narrow canyon. "I can't believe Istril wouldn't bring Weryl."
"I didn't exactly broadcast our departure. Did you?"
"No . . . but she would have known."
Nylan led the mare out into the sun and climbed into the saddle. "Maybe we'll see her on the way out."
"Maybe." Ayrlyn sounded doubtful.
In the still-cool light of spring, they let the mounts carry them down the road and past the smithy.
Ydrall and Huldran stood by the door to the structure that Nylan had designed and built-and where he had forged scores of the deadly Westwind blades. At least, he had managed to finish one more nondestructive item-a foot for Daryn, along with all the blades.
"Take care, engineer . . . healer," offered the blonde. "You, too," said Nylan. His voice was thick. As they passed the causeway, a handful of guards in the bean field straightened. One pointed in their direction and waved. Nylan waved back.
His vision blurred as he looked beyond the indistinct faces, as he saw the cairns in the background, with the dark green stalks that would bear starflowers rising from the rocks.
When the mare's hoofs struck the stones of the bridge, his eyes went to the tower, but no one stood on the causeway or waved.
Nor was there any farewell from the watchtower as they crossed the top of the ridge and headed down, down to the road that would take them west.
As the two rode past the scattered trees on the lower ridge and eased the mare onto the road to the west, the same road used by the Lornians and Gerlich the year before to attack Westwind, Nylan could sense a figure moving through the trees.
"Someone's coming," said Ayrlyn.
Nylan glanced back toward the ridge, though he could not see the tower beyond, and his hand went to the blade at his waist. With both eyes and senses, he tried to track the approaching rider.
Beside him, Ayrlyn shifted in her saddle. "No chaos there."
Istril rode forward, out of the trees, Weryl strapped to her chest. She also wore twin blades. Her free hand patted Weryl on the back.
"Nylan?" Istril's eyes were red, as if she had been crying, and her voice was hoarse.
"Istril? I looked for you and Weryl, but Siret said you'd taken Weryl off riding." Nylan eased the mare to a stop, and Ayrlyn stopped the chestnut. "I didn't mean to go off without saying anything."
"I knew." Istril coughed as she reined up. "Knew you'd have to leave." She turned to Ayrlyn. "I'm sorry for the trouble and the hurt I caused you, healer. But you'll understand, I hope."
"Istril . . ." began Ayrlyn.
"Hear me out, please, 'fore you say anything." The silver-haired guard turned to Nylan. "You have to take Weryl, ser. He's your son. He has to go with you. I know he does."
Nylan winced. "He's yours, too, Istril, far more than mine."
"What kind of life will he have here? He's got your blood. The Marshal'll drive him out before he's even grown. He can live in the lowlands. I can tell that. I can't. It'll be all right for the next one. The Marshal's not the only one who sees the future. I'll call her Shierl. She's a girl, and the Marshal looks fond on girls."
"Why?"
"You saved my life, ser, more than once, and Weryl's all I can give, and you'll raise him right. You do everything right. You will."
Beside him Ayrlyn offered the faintest of smiles.
"Da?" asked Weryl, stretching out his hands.
Istril fumbled with the straps of the carry-pouch. After a slow and lingering embrace, she slowly eased Weryl away from her and lifted the silver-haired boy toward Nylan.
Nylan stretched out his own hands, too, even though he knew that the single syllable meant little enough, and that giving him Weryl was the most painful action Istril could ever have taken.
As the smith struggled to settle Weryl in place in the pack on his own chest, readjusting the sword harness and the blade itself, Istril dismounted and began to unfasten the two bags behind her saddle. Her cheeks were again tear-stained. "One's food-the best I can do; the other's clothes. They're not much."