"Dave Duncan - Tales of King's Blades 2 - Lord of The Firelands" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

limp, his pallor, and the jumpiness in his voice
backed up the eye-popping stories of his
injuries that had been whispered around beforehand.
Everyone knew that a Blade defending his ward was
harder to kill than a field of dandelions. But
death was not impossible, and many of the juniors were
openly sobbing by the end of the tale.
The hero ate lunch in private with Grand
Master and some other teachers. He wanted to leave
right after the meal, but Master of Protocol
persuaded him to stay and instruct the seniors on
politics. Prime invited him to do so in the
tower. Thus most of the seniors were in the tower that
afternoon, which was why the Brat did not find them.



Ironhall had never been a castle, but its
wild moorland setting had inspired some
long-forgotten builder to festoon parts of it with
turrets, loopholes, and fake battlements.
The most obvious of these follies was the tower whose
attic served as the seniors' private lair.
Generations of future Blades had idled in its
squalor without ever having a single thought of cleaning
or tidying. The furniture was in ruins and heaps
of discarded clothes and miscellaneous clutter
moldered in the corners. But by tradition--and
everything in Ironhall ran on tradition--no
one ever set foot up there except the seniors
themselves--not Blades, not Grand Master, not even the
King. No one had ever explained why any of those
men should want to, but the invitation to Sir Spender
was supposedly a great honor. It also kept
Master of Protocol out.
Wasp was the first to arrive, trotting up the
stairs carrying a respectable ladder-back chair
for the guest, which he placed in front of the
fireplace. He rearranged a few of the
other chairs to face it and then nabbed his favorite
for himself, leaning back in its moldering excretions
of stuffing to watch the others arrive. Fox appeared
and made a dive for the second-best chair;
Herrick led in six or seven more; then there was a
pause while Sir Spender came up one step
at a time, escorted by Prime. More seniors
clattered up behind them, chattering like starlings. They
draped themselves on tables or rickety stools,
propped themselves against the walls, or just sprawled
on the boards.