"David Gemmell - Drenai Saga 04 - Quest For Lost Heroes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

'I know,' she said, moving closer. 'You are Beltzer. Beltzer the drunkard. Beltzer the sloth. Beltzer the braggart. And you stink. You stink
of sweat, sour ale and vomit. Of course I know who you are!'
He raised his hand as if to strike her, but she laughed at him. 'Go ahead, mighty hero of Bel-azar. Come on!'
Beltzer pushed past her and out into the empty room beyond, but she followed him, her anger lashing him with whips of fire. He
stumbled out into the yard beyond the tavern, blinking in the harsh sunlight. The woodshed was to his right; open fields lay to his left.
He took the left path and headed off into the high country, but he had travelled only a half-mile when he sat down on a rock and gazed
over the rugged countryside. Three miles ahead was his cabin. But there would be no one there: no food, no drink; merely the howling of the
wolves and the emptiness only the lonely could know.
His heart full of shame, he turned back towards the woodshed.
Stopping at a stream he stripped himself of his bearskin jerkin and grey woollen tunic. Then placing his boots beside his clothes, he
stepped into the water. With no soap to cleanse himself, he scrubbed at his body with mint leaves and washed the blood from his beard.
When he returned to the bank and lifted his tunic the smell from it almost made him nauseous. 'You've fallen a long way,' he told himself. He
washed the tunic, beating it against a rock to drive out the dirt, then wrung it clear of excess water and struggled into it. His bearskin jerkin
he carried over his arm.
Mael watched him walk back into the yard and cursed softly under her breath. She waited until she heard the sound of the axe thudding
into the tree rounds and then returned to the kitchen, preparing the pies and pasties the farm workers and labourers would require at noon.
In the woodshed Beltzer worked hard, enjoying the heft of the single-bladed axe and the feel of the curved wood. His arm had lost none
of its skill and each stroke was clean, splitting the rounds into chunks that would burn on the iron-rimmed braziers at each end of the tavern's
main room.
Just before noon he stopped and began to cart the wood across the yard. Then he carried it into the tavern to stack beside the braziers.
Mael did not speak to him, and he had no desire to feel the sharpness of her tongue. She handed him a plate of broth and some bread when
the noon-time custom died down and he ate it in silence, longing to ask for a tankard of ale but fearing the inevitable refusal.
Naza returned at dusk and carried a pitcher of ale out to the woodshed.
'How are you feeling, my friend?' he asked, filling a tankard and passing it to the grateful Beltzer.
'Worse than death,' he replied, draining the tankard.
'You didn't have to do all this,' said Naza. 'You should have rested today. You took quite a beating last night.'
Beltzer shook his head. 'Your wife understands me better than you. This is what I need,' he said, lifting the tankard. 'You know, there's an
insanity to it all, Naza. I was the most famous person in Gothir. I was the standard-bearer. I was wined and dined, money and presents poured
into my hands. I was on top of the mountain. But there was nothing there. Nothing. Just clouds. And I found that you can't live on that
mountain. But when it throws you off - oh, how you long for it! I would kill to climb it again. I would sell my soul. It is so stupid. With fame
I thought I would be someone. But I wasn't. Oh yes, the nobles invited me to their castles for a while, but I couldn't talk to them in their own
language, of poetry and politics. I was a farmer. I can't read or write. I stood with them and sat with them and I felt like the fool I am. There
is only one skill I know - I can swing an axe. I killed a few Nadir. I took the standard. And now I can't even become a farmer again. The
mountain won't let me.'
'Why don't you visit Maggrig and Finn? They still have that house in High Valley. They'd be glad to see you and you could talk of old
times.'
'They were always loners and we were never close. No, I should have died at Bel-azar. Nothing has gone right since then.'
'Death comes soon enough to all men,' said Naza. 'Don't wish for it. Come inside and have a drink.'
'No, tonight I will sit out here and think. No drinking. No fighting. I will sit here.'
'I'll send a jug out to you - and a hot meal. I'll have some blankets brought out too.'
'You needn't do this for me, Naza.'
'I owe you, my friend.'
'No,' said Beltzer sadly, 'you owe me nothing. And from now on I work for my food.'

*

Forty wooden pegs two inches in diameter had been driven into the lawn; each was set some three feet apart in rows of eight. The eight
young students stood before the pegs awaiting instructions from Chareos. The morning sun was bright and a light breeze caressed the elm
trees which bordered the lawn.
'Now, gentlemen,' said Chareos, 'I want you to walk along the pegs, turn and come back as swiftly as you can.'