"2 - Last Sword Of Power (v1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

'Was I really born to a dog?'
Grysstha swore. 'Who said that to you?'
"The tanner.'
'I have told you before that I found you in the cave beside the hound. That's all it means. Someone had left you there and the bitch tried to defend you, as she did her own pups. You had not been born more than two hours, but her pups were days old. Odin's Blood! We have men here with brains of pig-swill. Understand me, Cormac you are no demon-child, I promise you that. I do not know why you were left in that cave, or by whom. But there were six dead men on the path by the cliff, and they were not killed by a demon.'
'Who were they?'
'Doughty warriors, judging by their scars. All killed by one man - one fearsome man. The hunters with me were convinced once they saw you that a pit-dweller was abroad, but that is because they were young and had never seen a true warrior in action. I tried to explain, but fear has a way of blinding the eyes. I believe the warrior was your father and he was wounded unto death. That's why you were left there.'
'And what of my mother?'
'I don't know, boy. But the gods know. One day perhaps they'll give you a sign. But until then you are Cormac the Man and you will walk with your back straight. For whoever your father was, he was a man. And you will prove true to him, if not to me.'
'I wish you were my father, Grysstha.'
'I wish it too. Good-night, boy.'

CHAPTER TWO
The King, flanked by Gwalchmai and Victorinus, walked out into the paddock field to view his new horses. The young man standing beside the crippled Prasamaccus stared intently at the legendary warrior.
'I thought he would be taller,' he whispered and Prasamaccus smiled.
'You thought to see a giant walking head and shoulders above other men. Oh, Ursus, you of all people ought to know the difference between men and myths.'
Ursus' pale grey eyes studied the King as he approached. The man was around forty years of age and he walked with the confident grace of the warrior who has never met his equal. His hair flowing to his mail-clad shoulders was auburn red, though his thick square-cut beard was more golden in colour and streaked with grey. The two men walking beside him were older, perhaps in their fifties. One was obviously Roman, hawk-nosed and steely-eyed, while the second wore his grey hair braided like a tribesman.
'A fine day,' said the King, ignoring the younger man and addressing himself to Prasamaccus.
'It is, my lord, and the horses you bought are as fine.'
'They are all here?'
"Thirty-five stallions and sixty mares. May I present Prince Ursus, of the House of Merovee?'
The young man bowed. 'It is an honour, my lord.'
The King gave a tired smile and moved past the young man. Taking Prasamaccus by the arm the two walked on into the field, stopping by a grey stallion of some seventeen hands.
"The Sicambrians know how to breed horses,' said Uther, running his hand over the beast's glistening flank.
'You look weary, Uther.'
'It reflects how I feel. The Trinovante are flexing their muscles once more, as are the Saxons in the Middle Land.'
'When do you ride?'
Tomorrow, with four legions. I sent Patreus with the Eighth and the Fifth, but he was routed. Reports say we lost six hundred men.'
'Was Patreus amongst them?' Prasamaccus asked.
'If not, he'll wish he was,' snapped the King. 'He tried to charge a shield wall up a steep slope.'
'As you yourself did only four days ago against the Goths.'
'But I won!'
'You always do, my lord.'
Uther grinned, and for a moment there was a flash of the lonely youth Prasamaccus had first met a quarter of a century before. But then it was gone and the mask settled once more.
'Tell me of the Sicambrian,' said the King, staring across at the young dark-haired prince, clad all in black.
'He knows his horses.'
"That was not my meaning, and well you know it.'
'I cannot say, Uther. He seems . . . intelligent, knowledgeable.'
'You like him?'
'I rather think that I do. He reminds me of you -a long time ago.'
'Is that a good thing?'
'It is a compliment.'
'Have I changed so much?'
Prasamaccus said nothing. A lifetime ago Uther had dubbed him Kingsfriend, and asked always for his honest council. In those days the young prince had crossed the Mist in search of his father's sword, had fought demons and the Witch Queen, had brought an army of ghosts back to the world of flesh and had loved the mountain woman, Laitha.
The old Brigante shrugged. 'We all change, Uther. When my Helga died last year, I felt all beauty pass from the world.'
'A man is better off without love. It weakens him,' said the King, moving away to examine the horses. 'Within a few years we will have a better, faster army. All of these mounts are at least two hands taller than our own horses, and they are bred for speed and stamina.'
'Ursus brought something else you might like to see,' said Prasamaccus. 'Come, it will interest you.' The King seemed doubtful, but he followed the limping Brigante back to the paddock gates. Here Ursus bowed once more and led the group to the rear of the herdsmen's living quarters. In the yard behind the buildings a wooden frame had been erected -curved wood attached to a straight spine, representing a horse's back. Over this Ursus draped a stiffened leather cover. A second section was tied to the front of the frame and the prince secured the hide, then returned to the waiting warriors.
'What in Hades is it?' asked Victorinus. Ursus lifted a short-bow and notched an arrow to the string.
With one smooth motion he let fly. The shaft struck the rear of the 'horse' and, failing to penetrate fully, flapped down to point at the ground.
'Give me the bow,' said Uther. Drawing back the string as far as the weapon could stand, he loosed the shaft. It cut through the leather and jutted from the hide.
'Now look, sire,' said Ursus, stepping forward to the 'horse'. Uther's arrow had penetrated a mere half-inch. 'It would prick a good horse, but it would not have disabled him.'