"Beverly Henderson - Stormcrow and The Deer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Henderson Beverly)

the Queen laid among many bodies, broken, dead. She had ruled unwisely,
but the royal blood had boiled in the end, and she died a death the bards
would sing of forever, if he could but win this day.
So he looked out, watching the first rays of the sun peeking out over his
last day of life. All night, Phillip's men - all twenty of them - had helped
him work out his last ruse, the last ploy to stall for time for the Crow. Men
in the Stormcrow's livery, some in the Queen's - all his now, had worked
until exhaustion, knowing that it would only buy them a little more time.
Then, about an hour ago, he had told them all to leave, to escape the
doomed keep. Not one had left. His men.
A messenger rode up to the broken keep from the Horde, as Phillip
knew he would, and began reading the last message from the Kahn to the
army of Lord Crow's. "This day, you may live, if you lay down your arms.
For know that the great and glorious Kahn is merciful. If you do not, then
know----"
Phillip's laughter broke through the man's speech, scattering a few
carrion birds feeding on the dead below the keep. "Fool! Go back to your
master! Your army is worthless! It can not even keep the reinforcements
from sneaking in through the night!"
His men cut the ropes, and the messenger saw three hundred soldiers
spring up behind the battlements, looking down at him, armed, ready for
battle. "Return to the Kahn, tell him we will fight this day! Tell him that
more men will be here in the morn and more the next day! Every day, the
countryside will rise up and join us against him, until his whole army lies
broken on this field! Go, tell his men to sing their songs of death!"
The messenger turned and rode towards the camp of the Kahn.
Shuddering, Phillip turned, looking at his "army" - the many upon
many dead bodies that now guard the battlements, rigged with the
springs and ropes that made them rise one last time, in hopes of stalling
the great Horde before them, their eyes vacant, empty. Smiling, he
climbed the battlements down for some water, only hoping that it
worked...For a while.
Phillip watched the campfires flicker out, the mustering of the Khan's
horde did not give him much hope, but they seemed to be up to
something. Any little time allowed his few men a little more rest, a little
more time to prepare for death. A brief breakfast on the walls, then there
was a stirring in the Horde's camp. Men marched towards the wall, close,
but out of bowshot.
Shuddering, Phillip called for his men to be prepared. It was not long
before the Horde began their charge! They came quickly, some carrying
the ladders to climb up the walls, but most just running, screaming, ready
to die for their gods, ready to kill all in the keep. They hit the walls hard,
the ladders reaching the top as the men began to swarm over Phillip and
his army. Hack, slash, fighting for the last moments, the last battle.
Then, the rain began. Not soft summer rain, cooling in the heat of the
day, but a rain of death. Phillip looked out as a rain of long,
black-feathered arrows poured from the forest, piercing the Horde nearest
the walls, a killing destruction.
Then, the thunder began. The pounding thunder of huge horses,
rushing from over the hills in a cloud of dust. Huge riders in full black