"Dave Duncan - Tales of King's Blades 5 - The Jaguar Knights" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

Wolf was only a fuzzy, but a better fencer than most of the seniors. He would have been promoted
months ago, had there not been some sad clodhoppers ahead of him. An hour after the Crown Prince
arrived, Grand Master sent the current Brat to find him. Parsewood played favorites, and Wolf was one
of them.

“His Royal Highness,” he mumbled through his awful teeth,“has expressed interest in fencing with some
of the candidates.”

“That would indeed be an honor, Grand Master.”

“I’m glad you think so.You will go first. If you fail to make him look like a paralyzed palsied duck with
dropsy, you will find yourself on quadruple stable duties every day until you leave here.”

“The prospect forebodes, Grand Master.”

“Also flogged raw every morning after breakfast.”

“I do comprehend your position, Grand Master.”

“Knew I could count on you, sonny.”

19



Dave Duncan

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They grinned together, thinking it was funny, but it did not turn out funny. Give Athelgar his due—one
rarely got the chance—he might just have wanted to reassure Prime and the other seniors that he could
use a sword, but he was dis-playing a typical lack of tact by reminding everyone that his father, the
current King of Baelmark, had trained at Ironhall.The Blades of the Royal Guard who had been sent
along to look after him were especially furious, checking and rechecking foils and padding.The entire
school flocked out to the quad to watch.

When they had Athelgar wrapped up like a pudding, anonymous behind a chain mask, Grand Master
called forward Candidate Wolf. Assuming he had been chosen for his ogreish looks as much as his
ability, Wolf had deliberately mussed up his hair and discarded his shirt, although the day was chilly and
everyone else was dressed to the gables for the royal visitor. He was still narrow-shouldered, all wrists
and ankles, looking younger than his age, and adolescence had blighted his smashed face with pustules
and brown moss he could not shave without bleeding to death.

This eyesore proceeded to make a public spectacle of the Heir Apparent.Wolf planted bare feet on the
grass, hooked his left thumb in his belt, and parried every stroke. He scratched. He yawned. When the