"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Renshai 02 - The Western Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

Still, Colbey did not brood long over lost possibilities. Rache had fathered a son whom he would never
see. The toddler lived with his mother in Santagithi's Town. Mitrian and her husband Garn had left their
only child, an infant boy, with a friend in Pudar during the war. Soon, Colbey and Santagithi would arrive
in Pudar along with its army. They would retrieve Mitrian's son, now called Rache in the Renshai tradition
of naming children for warriors slain in battle. Once Santagithi and his guard force returned to their town,
Colbey's training of the two boys would commence. And, in a few months or years, when Mitrian and
Garn returned from restoring the king of Be"arn to his throne, the Renshai would be united once again.



United. An army of four, two of them babies. And all facing the enmity of nearly the entire world. The
odds against Colbey seemed enormous, yet he did not flinch from the responsibility. His loyalty to the
Renshai never faltered, though his understanding of their purposes did. Obviously, we can't ever again
become the wanton killers we once embodied as a tribe. Colbey recalled stories of the gory border
skirmishes between the eighteen Northern tribes, battles in which the Renshai had committed the worst
sin any Northman could imagine. To destroy morale, the Renshai had sliced body parts from their
enemies, thereby barring the dead from the rewards of Valhalla's afterlife. Despite minor disputes over
territory, the Northern tribes believed themselves a brotherhood, and the crimes of the Renshai had
resulted in their banishment from the North.



Colbey leaned against a withered oak, the bark gouging into the light fabric of his tunic. Though he
moved with a casual ease that seemed to border on carelessness, every sense remained alert. A part of
his mind assessed the location of every soldier and, seeing no threat, discarded the information.
Movement inside the tent told Colbey that General Santagithi, too, was still awake.
 Colbey knew that the Renshai's century without a homeland had been spent gleaning the most elite battle
techniques from every culture in existence. Driven first by bitterness and blood lust and later by blood lust
alone, the Renshai had blended philosophy and skill into the most successful combat system in existence.
Rumors told how the least competent Renshai could fight three of any country's best warriors and win,
and Colbey had never found reason to doubt the veracity of the statement.



Still, the Renshai's single-minded devotion to war had goaded them to answer every problem with
violence.



Renshai rarely lived past their early thirties; the youthful exuberance and vigor of the tribe only fed the
cycle. Col-bey mulled the situation, forming no judgments. In his time, he had been as eager for combat
as any other. A scene emerged from deeply rooted memory. He recalled when the Renshai had finally
returned to the North after their hundred years of wandering. The tribal area which had once served as
home to the Renshai had become a part of Thortire. So the Renshai spokesman had asked the high king
in Nordmir for an icy, barren island that was then called Ti. The king's reply remained vivid in Colbey's
memory, "Pick a champion from among your people. If he can best my champion, the island is yours. So
long as you don't threaten other tribes, you may live your days in peace." A strange smile had touched the