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

Sepwin wriggled his shoulders. “I’m glad I don’t want to be a knight. Too much weight for me.”

“Far too much,” said Cray, “for such a skinny frame. It’s handy stuff, though, if someone goes at you with a blade.”

“Well, I promise not to do that, so you can take it off if you like.”

Cray shook his head. “One can never tell when it might be needed. Some enemies don’t give warning of their attacks. In the village, for example, if I hadn’t been wearing my chain, if someone had gone after you with a blade instead of bare hands… where would we be? My Gallant would be pulling a plow, and you and I would be fertilizer for the crops. Thank you, but I’ll continue to wear my chain. Truth to tell, I’d feel strange without the shirt at least.”

“Not comfortable for sleeping, is it?”

“The quilting beneath keeps it from annoying me.”

“Hot in the summer sun, I’ll warrant.”

“Sometimes.”

“I was thinking about last night’s shelter… couldn’t you have your spiders spin a suit of chain that would be just as strong as steel but far lighter?”

Cray smiled. “I suppose I could, though it would have to be spun fresh every few days as the spell wore away. And I’m not sure I could find a lord to accept the service of a man who wore magical armor. I have seen how little ordinary mortals care for being near the sorcerous breed, and I think I would do better to keep that part of my heritage a secret.”

“You’ll have to get rid of those spiders, then.”

Cray lifted one of his arms to inspect the score of tiny bodies that clung to its inner surface, hiding themselves among the links of chain. “Perhaps,” he said. “But for now, and until my future has some pattern to it, I’ll keep them. They still disturb you?”

“Somewhat. But as long as they don’t crawl over me, I can stand them.”

“You’d hardly feel them. They won’t bite you unless I order it. Not like lice.”

“I haven’t any lice!”

“I presume not, since I haven’t seen you scratch.” He clapped Sepwin on one shoulder.

“Come along now, let’s ride on. You’ve recovered from your swim.”

“I’m still wet.”

“WelI, so am I. The sun will dry us.”

“Will there be any other rivers to cross?”

Cray unrolled the map, which he had been wearing like a huge and unwieldy pendant on a thong about his neck. ‘“The swamp is swampy,” he said, peering at the parchment.

“This is the only major river, but there’s a lot of water still ahead of us. But the road is shown as unbroken all the way to the other side.” He grinned at his companion. “And we can always turn back if it becomes impassable.”

Sepwin grimaced. “If we turn back, I might take you up on that raft idea.” He pulled himself up onto his horse. “I’m ready.”

The sun soon dried their wet clothing, and Cray was able to slip the chain harnesses back into place over the quilting on his legs. His saddlebags, made of oiled leather., had scarcely been penetrated by their brief exposure to the river, and so the rest of his gear was virtually dry. The two ducks hanging from his saddle had shed water as if they were alive. Late in the afternoon, Cray and Sepwin stopped to build a fire and enjoy the birds for their evening meal.

“No trees this time,” said Sepwin, looking around nervously. “Shouldn’t we keep going until we find one for our shelter?”