"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Herald's Rescue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

bubble of water, he could hear a softly rising chorus of bugs punctuated by other, unidentifiable sounds.
Demons. Santar shivered in his soaked clothing and looked to the Companion.
The horse pawed the ground, clearly anxious. He nudged Santar toward the woods.
Santar swallowed his fear. A Herald's life depends on me. On us. He appreciated the company,
though it had dragged him here in the first place. He remembered how the stallion had given him the
chance to back out at the fording. He had chosen to continue to save a man's life. To trust the horse's
instincts meant believing time of the essence. For the Companion to opt for sped, over preparation and
skill, had to mean the Herald lay close to death. The horse, he felt certain, would know.
Though the urge to remount prodded strongly, Santar resisted. In the dark forest, he could see and
lead safely better than any horse. He only wished he had had time to grab a lantern, or even just a
tinderbox as the forest supplied plenty of torches and kindling. He pushed through the underbrush, tense
as an over-wound lute string, the horse moving quietly at his heels. The woods smelled of damp moss
and pungent berries, close and green. Branches swept across his face, stinging; and he tried to hold them
aside for his larger companion. A whirring sound appeared and disappeared at intervals, grinding at his
nerves. An owl cut loose above his head, sending him skittering for-ward in a rush. Stop it. Stay calm.
Accustomed to regular horses, Santar tried to maintain the appearance of self-control. The animal might
sense his fear, and a panicked horse became a deadly and unpredictable weapon.
Forcing himself to appear calm gradually resulted in a true inner peace. Santar surrendered himself
to the mission. For whatever reason, the Companion had chosen him to rescue the Herald, an enormous
responsibility. At first, he had believed it sheer coincidence, but he discarded that thought. Companions
had a good people sense. It could have approached anyone else in the town, or his brother, but had
selected him. Whether Santar saw the quality in himself or not, the Companion had; and he would not
betray the stallion's trust nor the life of its Herald.
The animal's nose poked Santar's right side, steering him leftward. The moist nostrils tickled the
inner part of Santar's elbow, and he could not help smiling through his fear. He allowed the horse to steer
him in this manner, blazing a trail through the Tangled Forest that anticipated deadfalls, brush too thick to
penetrate, and trees packed too closely for a large horse to squeeze around. A gray glaze descended
around them, deepening the forest shadows to unsettling darkness. The black flies and mosquitoes
swarmed in a biting cloud that followed their every movement. Chilled, Santar wished his tunic at least
had sleeves.
 As the night wore on, Santar battled exhaustion. He had worked a full day in the stables since
sunrise, hauling bags and bales, cleaning stalls, wrangling horses; and he had missed the evening meal.
The bugs and the cold seemed to drain his vitality along with his blood. Yet, the Companion steered him
ever onward with delicate nudges that displayed need but forced nothing. Santar wished for supplies but
refused to bemoan them. Somewhere out there, an injured man needed him. Or woman, Santar
reminded himself. The Heralds, he remembered, come in both varieties.
The journey continued as fatigue became a leaden weight across Santar's shoulders. He longed to
sit for just a few moments. His eyes glided shut, and he forced them open in time to avoid walking into a
towering oak. Worries about demons receded, replaced by a solid fight against the sleep that threatened
to overwhelm him. Just putting one foot ahead of the other became an all-encompassing battle. Only the
realization of a life dependent on his own kept him going. He found himself blundering into dead-ends and
copses, uncertain how he had gotten there. He forced himself onward, every step a victory, and hoped
he would catch a second wind when he finally reached the ailing Herald.
Suddenly, the stallion gave Santar a hard nudge that drove him to his knees. Moonlight glared into
his eyes, blindingly bright after the vast expanse of dark forest. In front of him lay a craggy mountain that
seemed to touch the very sky. Santar closed and opened his eyes, but the towering monstrosity
remained, a dozen others beyond it. Groaning, Santar staggered to his feet and willed himself forward,
preparing to climb.
The Companion gave Santar another abrupt nudge that, once again, dropped him to his knees.
Rocks stabbed into flesh, and a trickle of blood stained his britches. Pained, tired, irritated, he turned on