"David Gemmell - Rigante 1 - Sword in the Storm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

aDAVID A. GEMMEL




SWORD IN THE
STORM
BANTAM PRESS
LONDON • NEW YORK • TORONTO • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND
Sword in the Storm is dedicated with love to Stella Graham, with heartfelt thanks for eighteen years of great and
abiding friendship.
 Acknowledgements

My thanks to my editors Liza Reeves and Broo Doherty, and also to Alan Fisher, Val Gemmell, Mary Sanderson, Bill
Woodford, Tony Fenelon, and Jan Dunlop for feeding the imagination. And to the staff at Deep Pan Pizza, the
Crumbles, Eastbourne, for their warmth, their friendliness, and their Regular Americano with extra bacon and
pepperoni.
Prologue ............................................................................................................................................. 5
Chapter One........................................................................................................................................ 7
Chapter Two..................................................................................................................................... 11
Chapter Three ................................................................................................................................... 18
Chapter Four..................................................................................................................................... 30
Chapter Five ..................................................................................................................................... 38
Chapter Six....................................................................................................................................... 49
Chapter Seven .................................................................................................................................. 65
Chapter Eight.................................................................................................................................... 73
Chapter Nine .................................................................................................................................... 83
Chapter Ten ...................................................................................................................................... 90
Chapter Eleven ................................................................................................................................. 99
Chapter Twelve .............................................................................................................................. 107
Chapter Thirteen............................................................................................................................. 120
Chapter Fourteen ............................................................................................................................ 134
Chapter Fifteen ............................................................................................................................... 146
Chapter Sixteen .............................................................................................................................. 155
EPILOGUE .................................................................................................................................... 168
 Prologue

I was a child when I saw him last, a scrawny straw-haired boy, living in the highlands. It was the afternoon of my
eleventh birthday. My sister had died in childbirth the day before, the babe with her. My widowed father was
inconsolable, and I left the farm early, leaving him with his grief. I was sad too, but as with most children, my
sorrow was also tinged with self-pity. Ara had died and spoiled my birthday. I shiver with shame at the memory
even now.
I wandered through the high woods for most of the morning, playing games. Warrior games. I was a hero,
hunting for enemies. I was the deadliest swordsman of them all. I was Demonblade the King.
I had seen him once before when he, and several of his companions, had ridden to our lonely farm. They
were merely passing through and my father gave them water and a little bread. The king had dismounted and
thanked Father, and they stood talking about the dry summer and the problems it caused. I was around five I
think, and all I remember was his size, and the fact that his eyes were strange. One was a tawny brown, the other
green, like a jewel. My father told him how our one bull had died, struck by lightning. Three days later a rider
came by leading a fine, big-horned bull, which he gave to us. My father was a king's man after that.