"Modesitt, L E - Recluce 10 - Magi'i Of Cyador" - читать интересную книгу автора (Modesitt L E)

"Yes, ser."
"Do it!"
"Shofirg!" bellows Nytral. "Take a half-score on this side of the pond, up toward the north end."
"Yes, ser!"
"We'll take the rest down this side."
Lorn, Nytral, and the remaining half-score of Shofirg's squad quick-trot southward along the southern and western edge of the long pond. They near the holding buildings and ride toward the melee that now seems to involve all of Zandrey's company and all the raiders except the handful that had already fled.
Suddenly, two more riders in leathers turn their mounts from the melee and begin to gallop toward the pond, heading eastward and almost directly in front of Lorn and the half squad that rides behind him. As the pair sees the small squad, they veer more toward Lorn's right, trying to ride between the lancers and the frozen pond.
Lorn turns the mare nearly due north and urges her into a gallop, half aware that Nytral and the other ten riders have fallen back momentarily.
As they race eastward, the two raiders lean forward in their saddles, yet manage to draw long blades that glisten like order death, even while spurring their mounts toward the low embankment that forms the south side of the pond. Lorn leans forward, giving the mare her head.
Both raiders rein up, and seeing the single lancer officer, turn and charge Lorn.
With a cold smile, Lorn reins up the mare. By the time she has halted, the raiders are less than a hundred cubits from him, and closing rapidly. He pulls his own firelance from the holder and levels it at the left rider of the pair.
Hssst! The reddish-white chaos-bolt bisects the barbarian chest-high.
Hssst! The second bolt takes the right shoulder and the head of the second raider.
The two raider mounts slow to a walk, as if hampered by the limp figures slumping in their saddles.
"...order dung!"
"...never seen an officer do that..."
Lorn hears the comments, but keeps the lance leveled for a few moments longer before flicking the fire stud to the safety position and replacing the weapon in its holder. The acrid and metallic scent of chaos fills his nostrils for a moment, then is carried off by a gust of cold wind. He turns the mare slowly as Nytral and the rest of the squad rein up. "Have someone get those mounts."
"Ah... yes, ser." The senior squad leader gestures. "Get the mounts!"
"Yes, ser!"
Nytral's face is stiff, not quite pale, as he looks at his undercaptain. "Ser... that must 'a been a good hundred cubits."
"More like seventy." Lorn knows his smile is lopsided, knows that he should have waited until the riders were closer. "Might have been a bit lucky."
"...once... luck... not twice..."
Nytral's eyes go to the lancer whose voice had carried, and the eight lancers all close their mouths. The remaining two farther east, leading back two riderless mounts.
Lorn looks to the northeast, where the flashes of firelances have died away. He gestures toward Nytral. "Let's make sure everything's right with Dubrez and Shofirg."
"Follow the undercaptain!" Nytral orders.
Lorn lets the mare walk evenly back eastward along the southern side of the pond.
Dubrez and his squad are formed up at the northeast end of the iced-over pond. Shofirg and the half squad he had taken have already joined with Dubrez's squad, and Shofirg offers a head bow to Lorn as the undercaptain nears. Lorn returns the gesture. After searching the dead raiders, several lancers mount hurriedly, without looking in Lorn's direction.
One lancer's saddle is empty-or rather two lancers are strapping a lancer's body across it. Two other lancers are tying seven mounts into a tieline of sorts. Three other mounts are loping northward, the steam of their breath lost against the frosted brown of the hills.
"Stopped 'em all, ser. Fought like black angels, but did 'em no good." Dubrez gestures. "Got some mounts, too. Leastwise, good for cart horses or the knackers."
"I imagine the sub-majer will decide that," Lorn says. "You did a good job."
"What we're here to do, ser." Dubrez pauses. "Any come your way, ser?"
"Just two," Lorn answers. "We stopped them. You and your men did the hard work." He gestures toward the southwest. "Let's head back to the homestead there and join up with the Third Company."
"Yes, ser."
"Four abreast!" orders Nytral.
"Column by fours!" echo Shofirg and Dubrez.
"Captured mounts to the rear," adds Nytral.
For a time, the only sounds are those of the mounts' heavy breathing and their hoofs on the frozen ground.
"Are the raiders always like that in the winter?" asks Lorn.
"Pretty much, ser." answers Nytral. "They'll run if they can, and fight if they can't. In the spring and summer, they fight. Don't ever seem to run then."
Lorn nods, his eyes searching the area to the west, but the slight rise beyond the holding blocks any view of the Fifth Company, and there are no flashes that would indicate the use of firelances.
As they ride westward, past the dike and the end of the stock pond-if that is what it is-Lorn studies the buildings of the holding. The door of the house hangs crookedly on one iron strap hinge, and a single figure in gray lies beside the door. Lorn cannot tell whether the corpse is a man or a woman. Another dark-haired figure lies on a bale of hay beside the barn door. That figure is of a girl, one not yet a woman, all clothes ripped off her. Lorn swallows as he sees the slash across her throat. He swallows again.
As they reach the west side of the holding, beyond the barn, Lorn can see over the rise where the Third Company has formed up. Zandrey's lancers are walking their mounts toward the holding and Lorn's company.
As the captain sees Lorn and his company, Zandrey gestures for the Fifth Company to halt.
"Halt them," Lorn tiredly tells Nytral.
"Company halt!" orders Nytral.
"Squad halt," echo Shofirg and Dubrez.
Zandrey rides up toward Lorn, and Lorn continues toward the captain. Both officers rein up with less than a score of cubits between their mounts.
Lorn's eyes are flat, cold, as he waits for the senior officer to speak.
"Good job!" booms Zandrey. "Not a one got away. Most of the time, we can't do that with one company, and some escape."
Lorn nods.