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

complicated kata designed for battling hordes of enemies at once. From that day, he had forsaken
everything but his swords. He had spent every moment of every day drilling sword maneuvers until
exhaustion battered him into unconsciousness. Over time, his parents discovered that no promise of
reward nor threat of punishment could drive Colbey to fulfill the mundane duties of life. He would rather
practice than eat, would rather hold his sword than another person, and would rather train than sleep.



By the time Kelrhyne died in brazen glory, Colbey had become the best. Therein, Colbey knew, lay the
fundamental difference between Renshai and other men. For, where others would simply say that Colbey
had been Sif's Chosen One all along, the Renshai still believed Sif had specified Kelrhyne; and they
revered the dedication that had allowed Colbey to thwart a god-voiced prophecy.



Colbey plunged into a wild flurry of strike and parry, both arms arching and driving with equal mastery,
his body weaving in a finely coordinated dance. His thoughts jarred back to the present. The
responsibility of recreating the greatest of all tribes from a Western towns-woman and two young boys
gnawed at him. The honor, glory, and skill of the Renshai must live on. Fifty years of training the world's
best swordsmen had made him confident of his abilities. That he could make them competent, he
harbored no doubts. The uncertainty came with thoughts of what philosophies to instill, what purpose the
Renshai would have in the new order of the world. The only possibility that made any sense at all to
Colbey was to have the Renshai become soldiers for hire, to fight for money or glory, but only where the
cause was right. And to make allies where before they had only enemies.
 As easily as the idea came to Colbey, it brought with it no fanfares or certainties. Logic told him the
decision was right, yet he wanted something more, approval from a deeper portion of his being or from
the golden-haired goddess who guided the Renshai. Colbey whipped his swords into a forward cross
block, then whirled, slicing opposite loops to meet imaginary opponents beside and behind him. Faster
than thought, he spun again, gliding the blades through controlled, committed arcs. Like all of the
Northern deities, Sif took her sacrifices on the battlefield, and Colbey had delivered hundreds of
Easterners to her in the Great War. Afterward, he had recited his quieter, more personal prayers alone
beside a camp-fire. Now, seeking guidance, Colbey dedicated his practice to Sif, sincerely trying, as
always, to make it his finest effort. The elderly Renshai twirled and lunged, his swords carving the air in
flawless arcs, lines, and ovals, a lethal whirlwind of flashing gold and silver.



Sif never directly answered Colbey. He sought only the peace of mind that he had always truly believed
came from the goddess, though he had no proof but faith. Now, a pinpoint of light sparked before him.
Gradually, it grew and spread, widening to a vast, shapeless glimmer. Colbey continued his practice,
creating a grand new sword maneuver in his exuberance. He kept his attention partially on the glowing
object, uncertain whether to attack or painstakingly avoid it. Never once did he question its presence.
That his goddess would send him such a sign was an honor he dared not belittle with doubts. Other
realities touched his subconscious. He knew that Santag-ithi had emerged from the tent and sat watching
Colbey's prayer, deferentially silent and still. A few of the Pudar-ian soldiers stopped to stare from a
distance, nudging one another and passing whispered comments. Yet these things seemed of so little
consequence, Colbey ignored them.