"Gordon R. Dickson - Dragon Knight 05 - The Dragon, the Earll" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

attackers who had been left to the crows and other scavengers that would follow
after Malencontri had been taken. As taken it would be, today.

Its defenders were too few, and now too exhausted. Along the walkway to the
right and left of where Jim and Angie stood, worn-out archers, crossbowmen and
men-at-arms—those still able to fight in spite of their wounds—had fallen asleep
where they had stood to push back the attackers that tried to climb in from
scaling ladders on the outside of the curtain wall.

Given sufficient defenders inside her walls, Malencontri could have held off an
army, let alone this small force of two or three knights with perhaps a hundred
and fifty trained men-at-arms and archers and a couple hundred ragtag and
bobtail of the lower classes, armed with whatever they had been able to bring or
acquire on their raid into this part of Somerset.

But Malencontri had had no warning—not even time enough to call in the people

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who belonged to it from the surrounding forest and fields that were part of the
fief, who might have swelled their force to the point where the attackers would
have no chance.

As it was, the attackers must clearly be in ignorance of the fact that Jim was in
the castle. Otherwise they would never have had the courage to attack a
fortification owned by any low-ranking magician—let alone one who had the
notoriety that Jim had gained as the Dragon Knight.

"They'll be waking up now out there," murmured Angie.

"Yes," said Jim. He, too, had been watching the fingers of smoke from the
remnants of the overnight fires of their attackers; watching for an increase in the
smoke they sent up, as new fuel was added and some kind of food was cooked or
wanned for those who would attack again today.

"At any rate," said Angie, squeezing Jim's waist with the arm she had around it,
"this ends all hopes for the baby." She was silent a moment. "Was I really
unbearable to you with all my worrying about her?"

"No," Jim said. He kissed her. "You've never been unbearable. You know that."

The baby, as it had come to be referred to, had been Angie's particular concern
for the last year or so. She was only in her mid-twenties; but here, history was
still in the Middle Ages, and all around her much younger women—girls even—
were having children. She had been torn between her desire for a child and her
feeling, which she shared with Jim, that it would be unfair to have it here.

Let alone bring it up in this medieval time, which was still in the equivalent of