"Gordon R. Dickson - Dragon Knight 03 - The Dragon on the Border" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

“They set their lances,” commented Brian, the natural color in his face quite back and the tone of his
voice almost cheerful, “best we do likewise, James.”

This was exactly the kind of situation that Angie had feared for him, when she had objected to his going.
In the fourteenth century, as it had been once on their original world, life was uncertain. The wife of a
man who had left her with a cartful of produce for a nearby market town, never knew whether she would
see him alive again or not.

There were innumerable perils on the way. Not merely robbers and outlaws along the road to the town.
But the danger of fights; or even a reasonless arrest and execution of her husband once he was at the
town, for his violation of some local edict, or other. Both Angie and Jim had known this of medieval
conditions. They had known it intellectually as college instructors in their own twentieth century; and they
had known of it as a reality, during their first months here. But it had taken them a little while to know it in
their guts, as they did now. Now, Angie worried-and it was no weak worry at that.

But the fact of it was no help to the situation at the moment.
 Jim reached for the heavy lance resting butt down and upright in the saddle socket in which it was
normally carried; and laid it horizontal, pointing forward across the pommel, or raised forepart, of his
saddle, ready to meet the charge. He was also about to lower the visor of his helmet when Dafydd
trotted his horse a little ahead of them, stopped it, and swung down from its saddle.

“I would advise the two of you to stand clear,” said Dafydd, reaching for his longbow, uncasing it and
taking down his capped quiver, “to see first what a clothyard shaft can do to these, whoever they may
be. There is no point in closing with them, look you, unless you have to.”

Jim did not share Dafydd’s coolness. Armored men on invisible horses could well be invulnerable to
arrows even from Dafydd’s tall bow. But Dafydd showed no sign of fearing this.

Calmly, completely indifferent to the thunder of the invisible, pounding hooves coming rapidly nearer and
nearer to them at a canter about to break into a gallop, and to the five brilliant steel points of the spears,
each with half a ton in weight of striking power behind it, Dafydd draped the leather strap of his quiver
over his right shoulder so that the quiver itself hung comfortably at his left hip, upper-end forward. Tall,
athletically slim and handsome, as usual every move of his body could have been a demonstration of how
such action should be performed.

Now, he flipped back the weather cover from the quiver, chose an arrow from among those within it,
examined its three-foot length and broad metal tip critically, then put it to the bow and pulled the string of
the weapon back.

The longbow stave bent, the feathered end of the arrow continued to come back until it was level with
Dafydd’s ear- and then suddenly the arrow was away, leaping up as it left the bow. Jim was barely able
to follow its flight with his eye, before it struck the foremost mounted figure squarely on the breastplate
and buried itself in him right to the feathers.

The knight-if that was what he was-fell from the horse; but the rest came on. Almost immediately, there
were arrows sprouting from three more of them. All but the one who had fallen turned to run, the three
with the arrows in them somehow clinging to their invisible steeds so that they were carried away into the
mist and out of sight.