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

trail."
Alea let her eyes close, head nodding heavily. Then a sudden thought brought her
wide awake again. "What will you do while I sleep?" she called.
Gar turned back and smiled up at her. "Why, I'll keep watch, of course. When I
can't keep my eyes open, I'll wake you for your turn as sentry."
Alea braced herself. "How shall you wake me?"
Gar looked about, then guessed, "Little green apples?" Alea thought that over,
then said, "That will do. Not my face, all right?"
"I'll aim for your leg," Gar assured her.
That bothered her, oddly, but she could find no reason to complain. "Well
enough, then. Good night. Good morning, I mean."
"Good night this morning." Gar grinned and started to turn away.
"Lad?"
He turned back. "Aye?"
Again reluctantly: "Thank you. For standing watch, I mean."
"I'm glad to do it," Gar said. "Journeying is lonely work otherwise." He turned
and went before she could answer. What would she have said anyway, especially
since his words waked alarm in her again? She told herself that was foolish and
closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the trunk. There wasn't room
enough, so she loosened the rope, slid forward, then tied it again. Now she
leaned back. Exhausted as she was, her mind buzzed with questions, and sleep
seemed slow in coming. Alea found herself wondering what horrors could have made
a man lose interest in sex-or had he simply been raised to respect women? Or
even more simply, was he just a good man by nature?
She told herself sternly not to think that for a second. There was no such thing
as a good man, and that way lay the nightmare.
As a last thought, she tucked her skirts under her legs, then leaned her head
back again and let weariness claim her. It came in a flood, and she was asleep.
Gar covered their trail with expert touches and settled down to meditate,
reflecting that one of the predators she feared was certainly him. He wondered
what traumas had made her so wary of other people-especially men. Since she'd
been a slave, the answer seemed clear, but he had a notion it went deeper than
the last week or two. For a moment, he was tempted to probe her sleeping mind,
to sift through her memories, but he banished the idea as quickly as it had
come. His parents had taught him the ethics of mindreading, and as he had grown,
he had weighed their teachings and decided they were true. He wouldn't allow
himself to read a friend's mind without a very good reason. He wouldn't even
read an enemy's mind, unless it was necessary to save his own life, or someone
else's. If the enemy were ruthless, the situation usually became severe enough
to warrant the intrusion sooner or later, but even so, Gar felt he had to wait
until the danger was clear and present. No, he wouldn't read Alea's mind-but he
would listen carefully to what she said, put clues together, and see if he could
piece out what had happened to her, so that he would know how to behave in order
to help her.
Assuming, of course, that she chose to keep traveling with him.
Alea woke, feeling stiff and groggy, then saw the gloom about her. Her eyes flew
wide open with panic. She throttled it, looked down-and saw him, sitting by a
small, smokeless fire with his little kettle steaming.
She relaxed-he was there, but still keeping his distance. Then anger began, and
she nursed it, treasuring the feeling, believing it gave her some strength. She