"David Gemmell - Drenai Saga 01 - Legend" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

He was not tall, but he radiated power, and as Bartellus moved into the
centre of the room he was struck by the sheer dynamism of the man. He
had the high cheekbones and midnight hair of the Nadir, but his slanted
eyes were violet and striking. The face was swarthy, a trident beard
creating a demonic appearance which was belied by the warmth of the
man's smile.
But what impressed Bartellus most was that the Nadir lord was wearing a
white Drenai robe, embroidered with Abalayn's family crest: a golden
horse rearing above a silver crown.
The herald bowed deeply.
'My Lord, I bring you the greetings of Lord Abalayn, elected leader of
the free Drenai people.'
Ulric nodded in return, waving a hand for him to continue.
'My lord Abalayn congratulates you on your mag-nificent victory against
the rebels of Gulgothir, and hopes that with the horrors of war now
behind you, you will be able to consider the new treaties and trade
agreements he discussed with you during his most enjoyable stay last
spring. I have here a letter from Lord Abalayn, and also the treaties
and agree-ments.' Bartellus stepped forward, presenting three scrolls.
Ulric took them, placing them gently on the floor beside the throne.
'Thank you, Bartellus,' he said. Tell me, is there truly fear among the
Drenai that my army will march on Dros Delnoch?'
'You jest, my lord?'
'Not at all,' said Ulric innocently, his voice deep and resonant.
'Traders tell me there is great discus-sion in Drenan.'
'Idle gossip merely,' said Bartellus. 'I helped to draft the agreements
myself, and if I can be of any help with the more complex passages I
would con-sider it a pleasure to assist you.'
'No, I am sure they are in order,' said Ulric. 'But you do realise my
shaman Nosta Khan must examine the omens. A primitive custom, I know,
but I am sure you understand?'
'Of course. Such things are a matter of tradition,' said Bartellus.
Ulric clapped his hands twice and from the shadows to the left came a
wizened old man in a dirty goatskin tunic. Under his skinny right arm
he carried a white chicken and in his left hand was a wide, shallow
wooden bowl. Ulric stood as he approached, holding out his hands and
taking the chicken by the neck and legs.
Slowly Ulric raised it above his head - then, as Bartellus' eyes
widened in horror, he lowered the bird and bit through its neck,
tearing the head from the body. The wings flapped madly and blood
gushed and spattered, drenching the white robe. Ulric held the
quivering carcass over the bowl, watching as the last of its life-blood
stained the wood. Nosta Khan waited until the last drop oozed from the
flesh and then lifted the bowl to his lips. He looked up at Ulric and
shook his head.
The warlord tossed the bird aside and slowly removed the white robe.
Beneath it he wore a black breastplate and a belted sword. From beside
the throne he lifted the war helm of black steel, fringed with silver
fox fur, and placed it on his head. He wiped his bloody mouth on the
Drenai robe and carelessly tossed it towards Bartellus.