"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Renshai 01 - The Last Of The Renshai" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

"The prophecy at Kor N'rual. The Northern Sorceress' prophecy. A Renshai must fight at the Great
War."



'' A prophecy!'' Kallmir shouted over the roar of flame and the victory cries of pursuing Northmen,
growing closer with every step. "You would damn yourself and my child to Hel for a prophecy that
bodes as much evil as good? Let the Wizards handle their own damned prophecies. The West is their
concern, not ours. We owe them nothing. Nothing! Every life in the Westlands is not worth the cost of
one Renshai soul." He whirled suddenly, hurling himself onto the growing crowd of Northmen. For
several seconds, Rache saw his father's blade skip through the masses, flinging blood. Then Kallmir
disappeared beneath the charge without so much as a dying cry. The Northmen's pace scarcely
slackened. Shore sounds wafted, soft beneath the shouts and the pounding feet.



"Papa!" Rache bucked against his mother like a madman.



"Rache, no." She stumbled, and Rache's tunic tore.



He sprang toward the battle, but his mother caught her balance and a fresh grasp. The noise of waves
smashing rock sifted beneath the din of swordplay. Rache jarred backward, slipped, and his mother
dragged him several steps farther. The Northmen closed the gap between them.
 "Turn and fight!" Rache flailed. Death in glory. A place in Valhalla. Rache had learned his lessons well.
"They're coming closer." He lunged, pulled up short by his mother's grip, but his sword buried itself in a
Northman's gut.



Rache's mother tripped him, heaving him backward. The sword ripped from his fist, sheering off"
calluses. Something sliced his side, flashing pain across his abdomen. Rache tumbled, and suddenly, there
was nothing but air beneath him. The cliff faces of the fjord blurred past. Before he could react, even in
panic, he crashed into the depths. Water spewed over him. Darkness pressed him, his consciousness
jerking and swaying. He clawed to the surface, feeling the bubbles churned by his fall. The ebb tide
dragged at him.



"Modi!" His mother's scream echoed in the cavern. She crashed to a ledge, lying still, awkward and
broken.



Stunned by the fall and the battle, Rache made no sound. He swam into the shadow of a cliff face and
clung there, his ears full of voices amplified by the towering stone, Northmen's words in the high king's