"Sorcerer's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Phyllis Eisenstein)

Cray looked all around. “I would build a raft for us,” he said, “but there aren’t enough trees around here.” He rubbed at his cheek with one finger, frowning, and finally he said,

“There may be another way, Master Feldar. A way you won’t have to get wet. If you’ll trust me.”

“What way?”

“My mother could build us a raft of snakes. There must be enough snakes in these waters for that.”

“Snakes?” He leaned forward on his horse’s neck and peered at the water. “I haven’t seen any snakes yet, have you?”

“A few.” He grinned. “But don’t worry about that No snake will harm you as long as you’re with me.”

“You control snakes as well as spiders?”

“No, nothing like that. They just stay away from me unless I call them. Another trick my mother taught me, useful to a child growing up in a castle full of snakes.”

“Your castle is full of snakes?”

“Oh, yes, and spiders, too.”

“Then I’m glad we didn’t stop there,” said Sepwin.

“You would soon grow accustomed to it, Master Feldar. Now, what do you say to a raft of snakes? I fear your horse will have to swim, though; snakes might be too much for her.”

“We’ll both swim,” Sepwin said firmly.

“You’re sure?”

“Let’s do it already!”

Cray nodded, mounted, and guided Gallant into the stream. The water rose swiftly to the horse’s knees, its chest, its neck, and then the sudden fluid motion of its limbs indicated to Cray that it was swimming. In midstream, Cray glanced back, saw Sepwin still on the bank. “Come along!” he called.

Clinging to his mount’s neck with both arms, Sepwin spurred it into the river with a kick.

Gallant was already climbing the opposite bank when Cray realized that he should have taken his chain mail off before making the crossing, at least the leg harnesses, for they, like everything else he wore below the hips, were now very wet. He dismounted

immediately, stripped off his surcoat and the leg sections of his chain and wrapped the wet metal in the dry cloth. While he was doing this, Sepwin emerged from the river and slipped off his horse to sit wearily on the ground. He watched Cray handle the chinking metal.

“I have never seen you take that off before,” he said. “Do you really wear it all the time?”

“As often as I can.” He unsheathed his sword then, and dried it on a patch of grass, leaving the scabbard propped upside down, dripping.

“You know… if you had fallen off your horse, it would have dragged you straight to the bottom.”

“I doubt that. It’s not really so heavy.”

“Steel? Not heavy?”

“I‘’m accustomed to it.”