"Christopher Stasheff - Rogue Wizard 06 - A Wizard in Chaos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

bouncers, to take the worst blows and the highest death count," Otto observed.
"And seen how you and I led our men and took our chances right along with them,"
Cort said. "I wouldn't blame them for quitting, sergeant, but their chances for
living will be a lot better with us."
Otto nodded. "You've lived almost four years since you joined up, sir, and I've
lived nearly ten. We've both seen comrades fall all around us, but nowhere
nearly so many as if we'd stayed home and fought for our bullies. No, all in
all, I'd rather be a sergeant than a brute."
Cort knew that "brute" was only the bosses' name for a noncom, but he
appreciated the double meaning anyway.
"But you, sir, you've seen how the bouncers may be wounded and captured, but
seldom killed." Otto looked up at his young master with a glint in his eye.
"Your chances for long life are better with a bully instead of a captain, at
least until you start your own company. Why stay?"
"Because I'd rather have a quick grave than a long prison term while I waited
for my bully to save up the ransom money," Cort answered shortly.
That wasn't it, of course, and by Otto's approving nod, he knew the sergeant
knew it. It was simply that Cort couldn't have brought himself to have driven
plowboys before him to their deathsand Otto knew that, too.
He turned away, wrenching his mind away from his embarrassing lack of hardness.
"You take half the men and search our ground to the east, sergeant; while I take
the rest to the west."
"Yes, sir! Ho! Squads one and two! With me! Squads three and four! Follow the
lieutenant!" Cort started off, back toward the knoll where the Blue Company's
flag stood, eyes on the ground now. Even from this distance, he could see the
occasional plain rough-woven tunic of a serf who hadn't been a soldier. His
mouth tightened in a grimace; he tasted bile. There were always a few plowboys
who didn't move fast enough and were ground to mincemeat between the two armies.
There were always a few serf women whom the soldiers found right after the
battle, when blood lust and plain lust were both high, and those women were
ground up in a different way, before an officer or bouncer could stop it-if he
wanted to stop it. It was tragic, but there was no help for it; it happened so
often that it was just part of war.
Over the horizon from Cort, in a pasture screened on two sides by woods and on
the third by a mountain, the great golden ship came spinning down to the ground,
light as a ballerina, in the middle of a pasture. It was so noiseless that even
the cows sleeping nearby didn't look up.
The ramp extended, sliding down from the ship to the ground. Gar led the mare
down its slope, Dirk following with the stallion. They had caught and tamed the
two horses in a wilderness a thousand miles away, but had only been gentling the
beasts for two weeks. They were still half-wild, but Gar was a projective
telepath, so the mare went quietly under his spell. The stallion jerked his head
against the bridle, though, rolling his eyes.
"Spare a thought for my mount!" Dirk called. Gar glanced back, and the stallion



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