"Fiona McIntosh - The Quickening - 01 - Myrren's Gift" - читать интересную книгу автора (McIntosh Fiona)

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Prologue


He knew the injury would be fatal. Accepted it at the very moment he caught the sword’s menacing glint
as it slashed down.

Fergys Thirsk, favorite son of Morgravia, began the last part of his journey toward death as a gray dawn
sluggishly stretched itself across the winter sky. He faced his end with the same courage he had called
upon for all of his life as General of the Legion.

It had been the King’s idea to attack the Briavellians gathered on an opposite hillside under the cloak of
night. To Fergys it had seemed somehow ignoble to interrupt the traditional night’s peace in which men
sat quietly around small fires, some singing, others deep in thought as to whether they might live through
another day of battle. But the King had fixed his mind on this bold plan to take his enemy by surprise on
a night had already run red with the blood of both armies earlier that day and Fergys had been reluctant
to put the men to the sword again so soon. But his sovereign had persisted and Thirsk had accepted the
challenge.

There had been no sense of foreboding as he carried out his monarch’s wishes and led the attack. He
simply did not like the plan. Fergys was a man of honor and tradition. War had a code that he preferred
to observe rather than flout.

Nevertheless he had fought ferociously but had been disturbed when Magnus, his friend and king, going
against his wishes, had joined the fray. Without further thought Fergys had planted his feet and grimly
dispatched three Briavellians before he was able to make a move toward protecting his sovereign.

“The white cloak’s suitably inconspicuous?” he had yelled above the din toward his oldest, dearest
friend.

Magnus had ignored the sarcasm and even had the audacity to wink back. “Got to let Valor know I was
here when his army was beaten into submission.”

It was a reckless act and more dangerous than the King could have suspected. They were fighting on
Briavel’s side of the river and once the element of surprise had passed, both armies had gotten down to
the business of slaughtering one another. Valor’s men were no cowards and had worked with a
newfound passion to repel Morgravia.

Fergys had noticed Briavel’s standard—signaling that Valor too was in the thick of the fighting—and
remembered now, as lifegiving blood leaked from him, how he had feared for both Kings.

With Briavel having the advantage of higher ground, Fergys had made the decision to pull back. His army
had already inflicted a terrible price on its enemy; no need for either of these sovereigns to die. He knew
by daybreak and the inevitable clash that would come later that day Morgravia would overcome its
enemy once again. So he had given the order and his men had obeyed immediately.