"01 - The Cutting Edge 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

toward him, the four-pointed star shining. in sunlight. Then out of the mist and
the bulrushes below it came a wall of legionaries, driving a ragtag mob of
exhausted djinns before them.
Ylo was on the wrong side of that mob. Either courage or blind panic spurred him
into life. Yelling like a maniac, he struck down a couple from behind, plunging
into the free-forall, clawing his way toward the impish standard. He would
certainly not have made it, except that a murdering, screaming horde of djinns
appeared out of nowhere at his back like a tidal wave and swept him up.
The shield wall collapsed before the onslaught. Ylo was borne forward, all the
way to his objective, the standard. He arrived as a javelin felled its bearer.
Two years of training stamped certain lessons on a man's bones, and the first of
those was that standards were sacred. Without conscious thought, Ylo dropped his
sword, caught the falling staff with both hands, and raised it erect.
And thereby became a hero.

2
Even as a terrified young man clung grimly to a pole amid the raging clamor of
the Battle of Karthin, a woman lay quietly dying a hundred leagues or so to the
north, beyond the Progiste Mountains.
She knew that she was dying, but she didn't mind any more. It was time. She had
been rather surprised to see the dawn and would be even more surprised to see
another. Meanwhile she was in very little pain. Slow-moving shafts of sunlight
in her cottage kept her company. The busy sounds of the forest outside were like
familiar friends coming to visit, pausing to chat among themselves before they
bowed under the lintel-breezes moving through the branches, the chattering of
the stream over the rocks, buzzing insects, the impudent call of parrots.
Her name was Phain of the Keez Place. She was very old. She could not recall how
old, and it didn't matter. She had even outlived her cottage, for the roof had a
serious sag to it, and the walls had more windows now than they'd had when Keez
had built them, many, many years ago.
Keez was long gone, so long that she could hardly recall what he had looked like
with his silver hair and his stooped back. She could remember him in his youth,
though, strong and graceful as a young horse, bringing her here to show her the
place he had found, with its stream and its giant cottonwoods soaring to the
sky. She could recall the eager, anxious look on his big, smooth face as he
waited for her decision; the relief and joy when she said yes, this place would
do well. Very clearly she could remember how right it had felt, and how she had
decided to be kind and not make him suffer more, for his longing was so
great-and hers no less. Now! she had said, sitting down and pulling him down
beside her. Yes, now!
She remembered how his strength had delighted her-that first time under the sky
especially, and uncounted later times under the roof, too. But there had never
been another time quite like the time when they'd first lain together in the
sunshine, right here, making this their Place.
It had been a good Place. Here they had loved; here she had brought forth sons
and daughters-four shed borne and four shed reared, not many women could say as
much. Here Keez had died, but easily, without pain. Here she was dying. The
forest could have it back now, and thank you; she was done with it.
A shadow moved. Phain opened her eyes. The sunlight was angling steeper, so she
must have slept. Yes, the walls were a network, holes held together by wicker.