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

"Sillek did not, and I did not, and I see no reason to change my views." Gethen coughed. "Ildyrom will show the sharp side of his blade again when it suits his needs."
"As will most holders and lords," Zeldyan said, more to herself than her sire.
Gethen raised his eyebrows, but did not answer.


XXVI

NYLAN TURNED IN the mare's saddle and glanced back to the east at the tree-covered hills that concealed most of the rocky and ice-covered peaks of the Westhorns. He almost shook his head. Eight days, or was it nine? But three had been spent recovering from the bandit attack.
"Darkness . . ." he murmured, shifting Weryl in the carrypak. His son seemed to grow heavier with each kay they rode, and he hadn't been really carrying Weryl much until the last day or so. With his bad shoulder, Ayrlyn had done most of that.
"Do you want me to take him? You shouldn't overdo it." Ayrlyn turned her eyes from the tether to the gray that followed with the extra packs on it. The other bandit horse that hadn't fled had been so lame that they had left the beast free.
"Overdo it? I haven't done much of anything--except ride."
"You did enough in the last two years for three people. Why are you so hard on yourself?"
"We've actually ridden six days," Nylan said, to change the subject. "Did it take you this long on your trading runs?"
"Five to this point, I think. But we also didn't run into bandits, and we didn't have to stop so often."
"I can't ride if he's uncomfortable," Nylan admitted. "Not hard-hearted enough, I guess."
"It's been hard for me, too," Ayrlyn admitted. "I sense when he doesn't feel good. Or when you don't."
"My sensitive healer." In medically primitive Candar, Nylan had again become very glad she had that talent. At times his shoulder didn't even hurt.
"Just remember that. You're also my sensitive engineer, mage, and smith."
"I still don't know about the mage part."
"You're a mage. Don't fight it." The healer studied the forest to the left, the south side of the road. "More broad-leafed trees there. You can tell we're lower."
After Nylan blotted his forehead in the still air, his eyes went to the clear blue-green sky. "It's hotter."
"It's getting comfortable."
"By the time you're comfortable, I'll be roasted or broiled ... or something." He cleared his throat. "We still haven't seen anyone."
"There were sheep in the meadows between the woods up ahead, last fall. It might be early for that, yet. I don't know." The redhead stood in the stirrups for a moment.
"Stiff?" the engineer asked.
"A little."
"You weren't last night."
Ayrlyn flushed. "You are impossible. After a wound like that... I wouldn't have believed-"
"You're a good healer."
"Too good . .."
Nylan's mare whuffed as the road curved to the north around a hill crowded with evergreens bearing grayish green needles. Nylan patted her shoulder, then Weryl's back. The boy squirmed, and jabbed a heel into Nylan's diaphragm.
"I felt that. Kick him again, Weryl. He deserves it."
Instead, Weryl looked up at his father and said, "Daaawaa!"
"If that means something, I haven't decoded it yet." Nylan glanced at Ayrlyn. "Aren't there any people here?"
"Not many. Lornth isn't that heavily populated around here. There's a town, or a hamlet, or a village, whatever you want to call a collection of huts about a half-day on."
"That's something."
"Not much more than something," replied the healer. "It's pretty bleak."
"Isn't there some civilization . . . somewhere?"
"Well . . . Lornth must have some. They have good metalwork, wines, and traders."
"Lornth-isn't that the name of the country?"
"Nylan," said Ayrlyn slowly. "Lornth is a city-state. The capital is a city called Lornth. The locals say this road goes to the city of Lornth. The lord of Lornth holds these lands, except he has other lesser lords that-"
"Please ... not an elementary civics lesson. I asked a dumb question. Next time, just tell me it was a stupid question."
"You don't like women who tell you that."
Feeling like he had been gut-punched in a different way, the smith took a deep breath, then glanced beyond Ayrlyn to his right. "The trees are different." Nylan wiped his forehead, although he wore no jacket, just a shirt and tunic.
"I hadn't noticed," Ayrlyn said.
"They are different," Nylan repeated.
"How?"
"Their tops barely move in the wind, and . . . look at the roots. They're gnarled and huge and above the ground."
"What wind?" Even Ayrlyn had blotted her forehead.
"Higher on the hills-see the tops of the broadleaves. They're bending. We must be down in a protected area."