"01 - The Cutting Edge 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

"Yes. "
"Curious. An Yllipo? He must be making some sort of political statement. "
Ylo clenched his teeth and went on polishing.
"Important job. Sure to screw it up, of course. Maybe that's it."
Still Ylo held his temper. His skin was streaming sweat under his chain mail and
felt rubbed raw in places, as if the links had worn right through his tunic.
Every joint ached, every muscle trembled with fatigue.
Hardgraa scratched his cheek. "And I've never known Shandie to go for a pretty
face before. Tribune of the Vth Cohort, now-he's a rogue. Vets all the young
recruits ... but not Shandie."
Ylo spun around, staggered, steadied himself with a hand on the accursed pole.
He scowled at the crude, weatherbeaten veteran. A rock-eater, this one. He'd met
some tough centurions in his time, but this looked like the original, the
prototype. "I understood that his personal signifer was his chief of staff,
Centurion?"
"Correct. "
"Then . . . I . . . you . . . " He was too muddled to find the right words.
"You don't give me orders, Signifer. You pass on his orders. If he hasn't given
any, you tell me what you think his orders would be. I obey those orders."
Oh, Gods-responsibility!
"We're a team!" The older man chuckled dryly. "You think we'll try to pull you
down? You're expecting a rat pack, maybe?" Dumbly Ylo nodded. He was an
outsider. He had been thrown into this close-knit coterie with his fur still wet
and his fangs not grown. His loyalties were as questionable as his abilities,
and they must all know that.
The centurion shook his head. "If Shandie wants you, then he gets you. Trust us!
You're in, understand? One of us. And the sooner you can be useful to him, the
happier we'll all be. You can't do my job, and I can't do yours, because I'm not
gentle born. We each sing our own songs, understand? A team. And if you ever let
him down, in any way at all, I shall personally rearrange that pretty face until
you look like a retired gladiator with a bad case of--"
"What're you telling me, Centurion?"
"The council of war's in half an hour. " Ylo threw down the rag.
"Why the Evil didn't you say so? I want two of the maniple signifers here
soonest. If any other legion's standard outshines the XIIth's at the council, I
will personally roast their balls on a stick. I need a shave, a wash, and clean
kit-right now!"
Hardgraa grinned, showing a ragged assortment of amber teeth. "Yessir! " he
said, and took off at the double.
An hour-later Ylo found himself still awake, attending the council of war. At
least, he thought he was still awake. Who would ever suggest that a man wear a
wolfskin cape-with a hood, yet-over full armor in a tropical desert? But to
attend a council of war, standing on shaking legs in back of the prince
imperial, facing a proconsul ... No, he had to be awake; no dream could ever be
this unlikely. If the Gods weren't insane then he was.
Under the furnace glare of the sun, the circle of legates huddled within the
circle of their signifers. Ylo was not close enough to hear what was said, but
he had already heard Shandie tell his advisors what he expected to be said, and
what ought to be said, and the conversation would not veer much from that path.
Technically Shandie was Iggipolo's subordinate, but everyone knew that state of