"Raymond E. Feist - The Wood Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

Dirk pushed open the hay door. In the moonlight a drunken figure stood waving a sword with his right hand, while holding a jug of applejack with the left. He shouted words that the boys couldn't understand, but Hemmy said, 'He's fighting some old battle, for sure.'
Suddenly Alex said, The Tsurani! If Hamish wakes them with all that shouting, they'll kill him. We've got to get him to shut up.'
'You want to go and try to talk to him while he's waving that sword around,' said Hemmy, 'you go ahead. I'll take my chances up here. I've seen him drunk before. Puts him in a dangerous dark temper, it does.'
'We've got to do something,' said Dirk.
'What?' asked Hemmy.
'I don't know,' admitted Dirk,
Then two Tsurani ran into view and stopped when they saw the drunken old soldier in the moonlight, his breath forming clouds of steam in the frigid night air.
'You stinkin' bastards!' shouted Hamish. 'You come on and I'll show you how to use a sword.'
The two Tsurani slowly drew weapons, and one spoke to the other. The second man nodded and stepped back, putting his sword away. He turned and ran off.
'They're going to get some help,' whispered Dirk, afraid to be overheard by the Tsurani.
'Maybe they'll just make him put up his sword and go to bed,' said Hemmy.
'Maybe,' echoed Dirk.
Then a half-dozen Tsurani, led by the officer, came into view. The officer shouted at Hamish, who grinned like a grizzly wolf in the stark white moonlight. 'Come and sing to me, you sons of dogs!' shouted the drunken old man.
The Tsurani officer seemed more irritated by the display than anything else, and said something briefly to the men. He turned and walked off without a glance back.
'Maybe they're going to let him alone,' said Hemmy.
Suddenly an arrow sped through the darkness and struck old Hamish in the chest. He looked down in disbelief and sank to his knees. Then he fell off to the right, still holding his sword and jug of applejack.
'Gods!' whispered Dirk.
The Tsurani turned as one and walked away, leaving the dead bodyguard lying in the moonlight, a black figure against the white snow.
'What do we do?' whispered Dirk to the older boys.
'Nothing,' said Alex. 'Until the Tsurani tell us to get out tomorrow and bury him, we do nothing.'
'But it's not right,' said Dirk, fighting back tears of frustration and fear.
'Nothing is right these days,' said Hemmy, reaching out to shut the hay door.
Dirk lay in the loft, huddled against a cold far more bitter than winter's night.

'Let me help you with that,' said Drogen, as Dirk tried to close the kitchen door with a kick. The wind outside howled and this had been Dirk's fifth trip to the woodbox.
Dirk said, 'Shut the door, please.'
The new bodyguard to Lord Paul did as Dirk asked, and Dirk said, 'Thanks. I've got to get this to the great hall.' He hurried with the heavy bundle of wood and made his way through the big house. He entered the great hall, where Lord Paul ate dinner with his daughter Anika.
Dirk was very deliberate in arranging the new firewood, as it gave him a moment to watch Anika from beside the fireplace. She was a year younger than Dirk. Fifteen last Midsummer's Day, she was perfection embodied to the young kitchen boy. She had delicate features, a small bow of a mouth, wide-set blue eyes, and hair of pale gold. Her skin held a faint touch of the sun in summer and was flawless pink in winter. Her figure was ripening, yet not voluptuous like the kitchen women, still possessing a grace when she moved that set Dirk's heart to beating.
Dirk knew she didn't even know his name, but he dreamed of somehow earning rank and fame someday, and winning her love. Her image filled his mind every waking moment of the day.
'Is something wrong. Wood Boy?' asked Lord Paul.
'No, sir!' said the boyf standing up and striking his head on the mantel The girl covered her mouth as she laughed, and he blushed furiously. '] was just putting the wood away. I'm done, sir.'
Then get back to the kitchen, lad,’ said the Lord of the house.
Lord Paul was an Elector of the City. Before the Tsurani had come, Lord Paul had voted on every important matter confronting Walinor and had once been the delegate from the city to the General Council of Electors for the Free Cities of Natal. He was by any measure one of the wealthiest men in the city. He had ships plying the Bitter Sea and farms and holdings throughout the west, as well as investments in both the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Great Kesh.
And Dirk was now hopelessly in love with his daughter.
It didn't matter she didn't know his name, or even notice he was there, he just couldn't stop thinking of her. For the last two weeks, since Hamish's death, he had found his mind turning constantly to thoughts of Anika. Her smile, how she moved, the tilt of her chin when she was listening to something her father was saying.
She wore only the finest clothing and her hair was always put up with combs of fine bone or shell from the Bitter Sea, or left down with ringlets that softly framed her face. She was always polite, even to the servants, and had the sweetest voice Dirk had ever heard.
When he was back in the kitchen, Jenna the old stout cook said, 'Getting a peek at the girl, were we?'
Drogen laughed and Dirk blushed. His infatuation with Lord Paul's daughter was a well-known source of amusement in the kitchen. Dirk prayed Jenna said nothing to any of the other boys, for if it became obvious to the boys in the barn, Dirk's already miserable existence would become even blacker than it presently was.
'She's a pretty girl,' said Drogen with a smile at Dirk. 'Most men would look more than once.'
Dirk liked Drogen. He had been just one of Lord Paul's men-at-arms until Hamish had been killed for disturbing the Tsurani on Midwinter's Night. Since then he had become a fixture in the main house and Dirk had found several chances to talk to him. Unlike Hamish, who had been given to bouts of ill-humour, Drogen was a quiet fellow, saying little unless answering a direct question. Easy-going, he was reputed to be one of the best men with a sword in the Free Cities, and he had an open and friendly manner. He was handsome in a dark fashion, and Dirk had heard gossip that more than one of the serving women had snuck off with him on a thin pretext, and there were several tavern girls in the city who waited for his next visit. Dirk thought the man a nice enough fellow, though Jenna often had acid comments on Drogen's inability to think of much besides women.
Dirk stood and said, 'I have to get more wood over to the Tsurani.' He left the warm kitchen and, back out in the cold, wished he hadn't. He hurried to the woodpile.
Dirk picked up a large pile of wood and moved to the first of the three buildings. He pushed open the door and found the Tsurani as he always did. Quietly they rested between patrols or other duties which might take as many as half the garrison away for days, even weeks at a time. Occasionally they would return carrying their wounded. When resting they slept in their bunks, tended their odd, black and orange armour, and talked quietly. Some played what appeared to be a gambling game of some sort involving sticks and rocks, and others played what looked to be chess.
Most were off on some mission for their master, leaving less than a dozen in residence at White Hill. They looked on impassively as he filled the woodbox. He left and serviced the other two woodboxes. When he was finished, he sighed audibly in relief. No matter how many times being the Wood Boy forced him to enter the buildings occupied by the Tsurani, having witnessed their capacity for ruthless murder brought Dirk to the edge of blind panic when he encountered them alone. When he knew he had done with them for another night, he felt as if he was entering a safe place for some hours to come.
Done with his outside chores for the night, he returned to the kitchen and ate his meagre supper, a watery stew and coarse bread. The very best of the foodstuffs not taken by the invaders was served to Lord Paul and his daughter. He had overheard Anika complain about the food, only to hear her father reply it wasn't too bad, all things considered. Dirk thought by the standards he was used to, it was a feast. Drogen and the other workers in the house got the pick of leftovers and there was never anything for a mere Wood Boy.
Dirk returned to the barn and ignored the moaning that came from under a blanket in the first stall. Mikia and Torren seemed unconcerned their privacy was non-existent. Still, Dirk reasoned, they were dairy people, a herdsman and milkmaid, and he found farm people far more earthy and unconcerned with modesty than townspeople.
Litia sat in the corner of the next stall, her slight form shivering under a blanket as she sat on the dirt floor, huddled close to the warmth of a small fire. Dirk waved and she returned a toothless smile. He went over and said, 'How are you?'
'Well enough,' she said, and her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Dirk was concerned the old woman might not last the winter, given the scant food and warmth, but others in the household seemed indifferent. You got old, then you died, they always said.
'What gossip?' asked the old woman. She lived for tidbits of news or rumours. Dirk always kept his ears open for something to enliven the old woman's evening.
'Nothing new, sorry to say,' he replied.