"Brian Lumley - Necroscope 2 - Wamphyri!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

'These men are utterly loyal to him! See how proud they stand beneath his banner?' the
senior monk would have whispered in that sly Greek way. 'It could be a nuisance.'


And Vlad: 'Does it trouble you? I have five times their number right here in the city.'


The Greek: 'But these men have been tried in battle; they are warriors all!'


Vlad: 'What are you saying? I should fear him? I've Varyagi blood in me and fear no
man!'


Greek: 'Of course you don't. But... he sets himself above his station, this one. Can we not
find him a task - him and a handful of his men - and keep the rest of them back here to
bolster the city's defences? This way, in his absence, their loyalty will surely swing more
rightly to you.'


And Vladimir Svyatoslavich's eyes narrowing more yet. Then - his nod of approval: 'I have
the very thing. Yes, and I believe you're right - best to be rid of him. These Wallachs are a
tricky lot. Far too insular...' And out loud to the Voevod: 'Thibor, I'm honouring you tonight at the
palace. You and five of your best. Then you can tell me all about your victories. But there'll be
ladies there, so see you're washed and leave your armour in your lodgings and tents.'
 With a stiff little bow Thibor backed off, went down the steps to his mount, led his men away.
At his command, as they left the square, they rattled their weapons and gave a single, sharp, ringing
shout: 'Prince Vladimir!' Then they were gone into the autumn morning, gone into Kiev, called the
City at the Edge of the Woods...


Despite the disturbance, the unknown intrusion, the Thing in the ground continued to dream.
Night would soon fall, and Thibor was sensitive to night as a rooster is to the dawn, but for now he
dreamed.


That night at the palace - a huge place with stone chimneys in every room, and wood fires
blazing, sprinkled with aromatic resins - Thibor had worn clean but common clothes under a rich
red robe taken from some high-ranking Pechenegi. His flesh was washed and perfumed, tanned like
leather, and his forelocks freshly greased. He was an imposing sight. His officers, too, were spruce.
Though they obviously stood in awe of him, still he spoke to them with some familiarity; but he was
courteous to the ladies, attentive to the Vlad.


It was possible (so Thibor had later reckoned) that the prince found himself in two minds: the
Wallach would seem to have proved himself a warrior, a Voevod indeed. By rights he should be
made a Boyar, given lands of his own. A man will fight even harder if he fights to protect that which
is his. But there was that sombre something about Thibor which the Vlad found disquieting. So
perhaps his Greek advisors were right.