"David Gemmell - Morningstar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

Standing, I stamped my feet several times, trying to force the blood through to the
frontiers of my toes.

Walking deeper into the forest, I began to gather more fuel. The weight of the
recent snow had snapped many branches and the smaller of these I collected in my arms and
carried to my campsite, returning for larger sections which I dragged through the snow.
The work was arduous and I soon tired. But at least I was warmer now, save for my hands.
The tips of my fingers had swelled against my nails and they throbbed painfully.

But all my discomfort was forgotten when the three men emerged from the forest to
approach my fire.

There are times when the eyes see far more than the mind will acknowledge, when the
heart will beat faster and panic begins at the root of the stomach. This was such a time.
I looked up and saw the three and my mouth was dry. Yet there was nothing instantly
threatening about them. They looked like foresters, dressed in homespun wool, with
leather jerkins and boots of soft hide laced at the front with leather thongs. Each of
them carried a bow, but they were also armed with daggers and short swords. I pushed
myself to my feet, sure in my heart that I faced great peril.

'Welcome to my fire,' I said, proud that my voice remained steady. No one spoke,
but they spread out around me, their eyes cold, faces grim. They seemed to me then like
wolves, lean and merciless. The first of them, a tall man, looped his bow over his
shoulder and knelt beside the fire, extending his hands to the flames. 'You are a bard?'
he said, not looking at me.

'I am, sir.’I don't like bards. None of us like bards.'It is difficult to know how
to react to an opening like that. I remained silent. 'We come a long way in search of
your fire, bard. We seen it last night, twinkling like a candle, built where no sensible
man would. We walked through the night, bard, expecting a little coin for our trouble.’I
have no coin,' I told him.

'I can see that. It makes me angry, for you've wasted my time.’How can you blame
me?' I asked him. 'I did not invite you.'He glanced up at one of the others. 'Now he
insults us,' he said softly. 'Now he says we're not good enough to share his fire.'

'That's not what I said at all.’Now he calls me a liar!' snapped the man, rising
and moving towards me, his hand on his dagger. 'I think you should apologize, bard.'It
was then that I knew for certain they planned to kill me.

'Well?' he asked, pushing in close with his hand on his dagger. His breath was foul
upon my face, his expression feral. There was nothing to say, and so I said nothing. I
heard his knife whisper from its sheath and I tensed myself for the lunge.

Suddenly his head jerked, and I heard a soft thud and the crack of split bone. I
blinked in amazement, for an arrow had sprouted from his temple. He stood for a moment,
then I heard his knife drop to the snow; his hand slowly moved up to touch the long shaft
jutting from the side of his head. His mouth opened, but no words came, then he sagged
against me and slid to the ground with blood seeping from his shattered skull.