"Elrod, P N - Keeper Of The King e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

equipment, but he wanted—needed—that purse of gold and all the important honors
that went with it. Then would he have the freedom he craved, to make the choice
to stay in his fathers court or to move on to serve in another, better house.
Despite his secure position as the firstborn with a son of his own to carry on
the title, his oldest brother had made no secret of his jealousy for Richard's
abilities. The teasing rivalry they'd once shared as children had grown spiteful
over the years, at least on his brother's part. All too aware of his dependence
on the good will of their father, Richard had grimly done his Christian duty and
turned the other cheek to keep peace in the house, but it was damned difficult
at times. More and more often his whispered confessions to the priests included
his great temptation to pound Dear Brother to a jelly. Even after a day such as
this he could do so without much effort, and oh, but didn't Dear Brother know
that well enough? The priests, of course, cautioned him against so grave a sin,
and he reverently submitted to the penance without a murmur. No one could accuse
him of disdaining the knightly virtues.
But enough of that. Memories of the past and fair dreams for the future could
wait. All thought, all attention must be fixed upon what was to come. That purse
of gold wasn't yet tied to his belt; he had to first earn it. This new opponent
had unquestionably fought well, defeating more than a dozen veteran fighters to
get this far; it would be foolish to underestimate him just because he was a
boy.
I was that young once, that desperate to prove myself. Why should he be any
different?
Richard continued to hold still, letting his cold gaze pound against the boy's
scratched and dented helmet. He was distant enough to not be able to see the
boy's eyes, but still… Can you feel that, young pup?
The boy held still in turn, perhaps wise to Richard's game and attempting to
play as well. The stillness seemed to spread out from them, encompassing the
field, the crowd, until the least murmur was stifled to silence. For the tiniest
moment Richard thought he could hear their very breath in their throats.
Then in the stands, the kerchief fell. Battle was joined.
Those who watched would tell later that this was the greatest struggle they had
ever witnessed. It was a struggle between man and boy, between experience and
youth, confidence and desperation.
At first, little happened. The two adversaries circled each other warily,
searching for weakness or fear. Then quick as lightning, they fell to it. For
over an hour, the clanging of sword on shield, of metal against metal rang out
across the damp Normandy countryside. For over an hour, it was the only sound to
be heard, as if not merely this crowd of watchers but the whole world held its
breath. No bird sang, no animal called, no infant cried. All was rapt attention,
centered on the contest.
Initially, the young boy clearly had the upper hand.
He'd used his moment of respite well, and was full of energy and spirit. He
attacked with all the confidence of being sixteen and immortal. His sword arced
through the air time and again, driving Richard back. It looked to all that the
older man had finally, brutally met his match.
Richard, however, felt only serenity in his soul. He'd faced this many times
before. Indeed, it was often a tactic of his to allow a brash opponent the upper
hand in the early going to tire him out. Then he would come on full strength and
finish off the unfortunate. He'd convinced himself that this was the case now,