"Elizabeth Moon - Paksenarrion 1 - The Sheepfarmer's Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

look тАФ him thump the bunk. He looked at her from all
sides, grunted, and finally said, "Tunic's wrinkled in
back," and walked out.
"Dismissed," said Bosk, and Paksenarrion headed for the
yard, beginning to wonder why she'd gotten into this.
She wondered even more in the next weeks. She enjoyed
the marching drill, which kept them moving about the
wide fields in intricate patterns for several hours every
morning and evening. It wasn't fighting, but it was
soldierly, and expected. What she didn't enjoy was the
other work. Bedmaking, cleaning, and dishwashing were
among the things she'd left home to avoid. If she'd wanted
to be a carpenter or a mason, she grumbled to herself one
day while working on repairs to the stable wall, she'd
have apprenticed herself to one. Others felt the same way.
"We haven't even seen a sword yet," complained Effa. "I
signed on to be a fighter, not drag rocks around all day."
"Well тАФ surely we'll get into that," said Saben, as he
hoisted one of the despised rocks into place. "I mean, the
place isn't full of workers, so they must have become
fighters and gone to war."
Korryn gave a sneering laugh. "Fine reasoner you are!
No, they'll keep us as laborers as long as they can, and
then try to skimp on our training. As long as they can
count on fools like you to join every year, they don't care

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Elizabeth Moon - The Deed of Paksenarrion [vol 1] Sheepfarmer's Daughter


how many die."
Paksenarrion snorted. "If we're fools for joining, what
about you?" The others laughed, and Korryn scowled,
slamming a rock into wet mortar so it splattered them all.
"I," he said, "already know how to use a sword. I don't
have to worry." "You will if you don't get busy," said
Bosk. They all wondered how long he had been listening.
The closest they came to anything that Paksenarrion
recognized as weapons training was hauk drill. Every day
they spent two hours with the hauks, weighted wooden
cylinders that looked somewhat like maces.
"I know what you want," said Armsmaster Siger, as he
supervised the drill. "You want swords, you think, and
spears. Huh. You couldn't wield a sword for a quarter-
glass yet, none of you. Get that up, recruit тАФ higher,
that's right. Thought you were strong, didn't you? And
you're all as weak as newborn lambs тАФ look at you
sweat." Siger was a gnarly, dried-up old man who looked
old enough to be anyone's grandfather.
Paks had began to doubt they would ever get to real