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

Weryl laughed.
"He thinks it's a game," Ayrlyn said with a chuckle.
"I'll really be worn out by the time he's tired."
"You, the untiring iron smith? The tower builder who never stopped? Tired by a child?" Ayrlyn's smile got broader. "You could just go to sleep."
"Just sleep? Not a chance." Nylan grinned back, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder as he set Weryl back on the center of the blanket once more.
Weryl charged toward Nylan's knees, instead of his chest. "It sounds like a triumph of lust over common sense. Do you think I'm interested? You didn't ask."
"Are you interested?"
"I'll have to see. You only asked when I forced you to." The healer tossed her head, and the flame-red hair glinted with a light of its own in the gloom.
"I'll try to do better in the future." Nylan lifted Weryl overhead. "Your powerpaks are still fully charged, aren't they?"
"Oooo . . ." Suspended over Nylan, Weryl immediately drooled, and the liquid dropped on the smith's chin. Nylan set his son on the blanket and wiped his face. "Serves you right," Ayrlyn said.
"Thanks. I'll remember that when we're... whatever." The smith absently reclaimed Weryl once more. "Doing what we can where we can. You know, in some ways, it was idiotic to just leave. No destination, no plans."
"It would have been better to wait until Ryba found a way to dispose of me or turn you into an armless stud, the way she threatened Gerlich? Sometimes, O rational smith, you have to go with your feelings. By the time you can rationally figure it out, it's too late."
"Maybe ... I don't know as I'm a very good smith, though."
"The locals thought you were, and that's one test."
"Maybe," Nylan repeated.
"Don't you think you could be a smith somewhere?" Ayrlyn asked.
"I don't know. I'd guess it would have to be a small town somewhere they don't have one. The locals have to be better than I am."
"I wonder about that. You can feel the metals, and most people here don't seem to have that ability. Both Nerliat and Relyn were clear on that. Lord Sillek managed to survive because he had three white wizards-three in an entire kingdom. That tells me that the talent for wizardry-or the ability to use it-isn't common."
Nylan scooped up Weryl and just held him for a moment, hoping the involuntary stasis would break the try-to-escape pattern the boy had adopted.
"Waaaa-daa-daaaa!"
"All right." Nylan set Weryl back on the blanket, and the silverhead dropped on his knees and crawled toward Ayrlyn.
"It's my turn?" Ayrlyn scooped Weryl up and set him back on the blanket.
Weryl laughed.
"I think it's luck and chance. We've all ridden the angel powernets, and sensing the order flows, the chaos flows, whatever it is that passes for magic here, is a lot easier if you have." Nylan intercepted Weryl's attempt to crawl over his boots. "Look at Westwind. Only three of the original marines had any talent, but all of the officers who had to ride the fluxes showed up with it."
Ayrlyn shrugged. "Could be. My point stands. There can't be that many smiths who have your talents."
"That may be, but I don't have any tools either."
"You're too guilt-ridden to take any."
They both laughed, before Ayrlyn had to grab Weryl again.


XXIII

THE VAN OF the Mirror Lancers rode four abreast, heading east on the great North Highway, and yet there was room for a steamwagon beside them. The white stones of the roadbed, which shimmered at a distance, would have displayed slight pits and hairline cracks if examined too closely.
Behind the van came the full Second of the lancers, then the Fourth, and then the Sixth. Even four abreast, the column of horse stretched almost a full kay.
Then came the steamwagons, only half a score, for all their individual bulk and power, their iron-tired wheels rumbling, engines puffing, brass rods and pistons moving and glittering under the white-gold sun. Each wagon pulled two long trailers laden with supplies and covered with white tarpaulins.
Behind the wagons rode the Eighth Mirror Lancers, and then the Tenth, and behind them streamed the Shield Foot, followed, a half kay farther back, by the Shining Foot. All in all, the assemblage of horses, wagons, and foot extended more than three kays along the North Highway.
In the first third of the column, immediately before the steam wagons, rode Majer Piataphi, with two captains flanking him. All wore the white and green of the lancers, and their saddles were of hard-finished white leather.
"The Shining Foot cannot walk as fast as the lancers or the wagons," observed the balding captain to Piataphi's right. "We are slowed to their pace."
"I doubt the barbarians will note, Captain," responded the majer. "They are convinced it will be seasons before we act."
"It will take more than an eight-day to reach Syadtar, even with the steamwagons, and another eight-day through the Grass Hills to the mines," pointed out the other captain.
"From the screeing mirrors, we can tell that the barbarians have few armsmen left from their petty wars, and fewer coins. There are no horse moving, no foot being gathered, not even their ragtag levies. We will be at the mines before they can gather forces." Piataphi coughed as the wind swirled ashes and cinders from the steamwagons around him. "Taking the mines will be harder than holding them. These barbarians will sneak through the trees and the hills, and loose their jagged-edged arrows and be gone before you know they are there. Screeing glasses are not much good for small bodies of fighters."
"Is not that why the Lord Protector of Cyador told us to clear the area around the mines?" asked the balding captain. "Yes, Miatorphi." Piataphi lowered his voice. "We still have to maintain that area. It is one thing to destroy or drive out everyone; it is another to hold it-as his great-grandsire found out. That is why we must strike quickly and annihilate everyone." He coughed again as the following wind swirled down more smoke. "Let us ride up with the van until the wind changes."
He guided his mount to the clear left side of the white stone high-way, then urged it to carry him ahead of the exhaust gases from the mighty wagons.


XXIV

THE MARE WAS breathing heavily as she carried Nylan out of the narrow space in the rocky defile where the road finally leveled, and started back down once more.
Nylan glanced ahead, where the orange white sun had just dropped below the Westhorns, and where the shadows cast by the peaks to the west had cloaked the road and the wooded valley ahead in gloom. The smith shifted his weight in the saddle and, as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, rubbed his forehead in relief from the-glare he had been facing for what had seemed so long.
"It's hard riding into the sunset," he said, half over his shoulder to Ayrlyn, whose chestnut followed.