"Christopher Stasheff - Rogue Wizard 07 - A Wizard In Midgard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

darkness in disdain. "Poor fools out there-two couples trying to make normal
babies, one a big woman with a small man, the other a small woman with a big
man. Even if the babies do grow to Midgarder size, they'll still be slaves."
"Even though they look just like the masters?" Gar asked in surprise.
"Even though," Hilda assured him. "They carry blood that might be a giant's or a
dwarf's, after all. The son or daughter of a slave is still a slave."
That left the question of why she had sought him out, but Gar had tact enough
not to ask. "Poor souls," he muttered. "Aren't we all?" Hilda looked down at him
again. "It surely seems to have taken you sorely, lad, watching Greta whipped.
Have you never seen the like before?"
"I have a weak stomach," Gar explained.
"Well, let it heal, and seek me out when it does," Hilda sighed. She touched his
hand, a light caress, then slipped off into the night.
Gar let her go, realizing why she had come, why the slaves went on making babies
even though they knew the children would grow into misery like their own-because
he had never felt so bitterly alone as he did that night.
By the time he went to sleep, Magnus had learned all he needed to know to
justify overthrowing Midgard's government. He wasn't sure what that government
was, but he felt totally justified in conquering the country-as bloodlessly as
possible, of course, but he doubted how bloodless that could be. The. depth of
anger and hatred in the slaves was hidden, but very great.
That anger, though, was completely directed toward the masters, and only struck
at other slaves in brief flashes, the sort of quarrels that are bound to crop up
between people anywhere who are forced to live too closely together. Gar was
amazed that the men didn't try to browbeat the women, especially seeing how the
overseers exploited them-but perhaps that was why: the slave men, sickened by
the bullying, were determined not to imitate it.
He was also astounded to see that the big slaves didn't try to beat the small
ones-that, in fact, all the slaves seemed to cling together for comfort,
regardless of size or gender. He wondered if it might be because they shared a
common bond of suffering; semi-dwarf and demi-giant united in misery, and in the
need to care for one another in order to survive.
Of course, it also might have been that they were simply too tired to try to
intimidate one another, but Gar doubted that; he had seen people in very
deprived circumstances still trying to bully their fellows.
There was no question about the overseers' power, though. Each of them took a
different woman every night, and during the day, seemed to be alert for the
slightest excuse to strike a slave. They always found excuses to yell, to
insult, to browbeat, and seemed to enjoy every minute. As his concussion healed,
Gar read their spirits more and more accurately, and realized that they did
indeed enjoy their work. The position seemed to attract sadists.
He felt no compunction about reading their minds. There could be no doubt they
were the enemy, or that he was at so severe a disadvantage that he would have to
use every psi power he had to escape and stay free.
He also felt no compunction about rummaging around in Steward Wulfsson's
mind-there was no question that the man was an enemy, or that Gar would need
every scrap of knowledge he could gain to topple the power structure of which
Wulfsson was a part. He learned that Midgard was split into a dozen kingdoms,
and that each king governed his own little domain as he wished-but that in
practice, he followed the policies laid down by the Council of Kings. The