"Mercedes Lackey - Dragon Jousters 1 - Joust" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

grow where he could not put his eye upon it on a regular basis.
Vetch was fairly certain that Khefti counted the berries
themselves twice daily. Fortunately, the husbandry of the
precious tala was not his concern, for Khefti would never have
entrusted anything so important to a serf. He was not even
allowed to set foot inside the enclosure.

Vetch kept his head bent down as he heaved his heavy leather
water bucket along. His arms and shoulders ached and burned
with fatigue, and his stomach with hunger; his eyes stung with
the sweat that dripped and the dust that blew into them, his
mouth was dry, full of kamiseen grit, yet he dared not take a
mouthful of the water in his bucket or use it to wash the sand
from his eyes. That water was for the tala plants, not to quench
the burning thirst of a mere serf.

He kept his eyes fastened on the hard-packed, sandy clay of
the path under his dirty, bare feet. This was not because he was
afraid to look up, and possibly incur the wrath of any freeborn
Tian who might happen by for showing "insolence." He was
watching for a particular little spot on the path that led from
Khefti-the-Fat's well inside his compound, to the cistern that
irrigated his tala field. This spot was marked only by the fact
that the soil there was a slightly different color than the rest.

He wanted so badly to put the bucket down; the rope handle
cut into his hands cruelly. It was all that kept him going,
knowing that spot was there, marked by the dirt he'd dug up and
replaced last night.

Ah. There it was. He fastened his gaze on it, and labored
toward it, trying not to pant, which would only dry his mouth
further.

Vetch made no outward sign that he had noted the place, for
the last thing he wanted anyone to think was that there was
anything unusual about the spot. He couldn't have sped up if
he'd had to. The water bucket that had been tossed at him by his
master this morning was unwieldy, and quite full. If he wasn't
careful, most of what was in it would slosh out before he got to
the cistern.

The bucket was far too big and heavy when full for someone as
small as he was to carry easily. Not that he had a choice. Serfs
made do with the tools they were given, and kept silent about
any complaints they might have in the presence of their masters,
or they suffered whatever consequences the master chose to mete
out. A man might hesitate to scar a slave who had cost him
money to buy, and might earn him more money when sold. He
would have no such compunctions about a serf, who only cost