"Elizabeth Moon - Gird 01 - Surrender None" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

think of being a soldier?”
Gird felt his heart leap. “You mean… like you?”
The sergeant laughed. “Not at first, of course. You’d start like the
others, as a recruit. But you’re big for your age, and strong. You
work hard. Think of it… a sword, a spear maybe… you could make
sergeant someday.”
“Do you ever get to ride a horse?” That was his dream, to ride a fast
horse as the lords did, running before the wind.
“Sometimes.” The sergeant smiled. “The steward might recommend
you for training. A lad like you needs the discipline, needs a place to
work off his extra energy. Besides, it’s a mouth less to feed at home.”
He gave Gird’s shoulder a final shake, and pushed him out the gate.
“We’ll have a word with your dad, this next day or so. Don’t start
trouble again, eh?”
“Holy Lady of Flowers!” His mother had been half-way down the
lane; she must have been watching from the house. “Gird, what did
you mean—”
“I’m sorry.” He stared at the dust between his toes, aware of every rip
in his clothes. They had been his best, the shirt actually new, and now
they looked like his ragged old ones. “I didn’t start it, Mother, truly I
didn’t. Rauf stole some plums, and I thought we might have a fine—”
“Effa says Rauf hit you first.”
“Yes’m.” He heard her sigh, and looked up. “I really didn’t—‘
“Gird—” She put a hand on his head. “At least you’re back, and no
fine. Effa says the steward didn’t seem angry, not like she thought he

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Elizabeth Moon - Surrender None


would be.”
“I don’t think he is.” Suddenly his news burst out of him. “Guess
what the sergeant said—maybe I can train to be a soldier! I could
have a sword—” Excited as he was, he didn’t notice her withdrawal,
the shock on her face. “Sometimes they even ride horses, he said. He
said I was big enough, and strong, and—” Her stiff silence held him
at last; he stared at her. “Mother?”
“No!” She caught his arm, and half-dragged him down the lane to the
house.
The argument went on all evening. His father’s first reaction to the
story of the plums was to reach for his belt. “I don’t brawl,” he said.
“And I didn’t raise my sons to be brawlers.”
Arin, as usual, stood up for him. “Da, that Rauf’s a bad lot, you know
that. So’s the steward: they’ve got him in stocks this night, and Sikan
too.”
“And I’ll have their fathers down on me, did you think of that?
Oreg’s no man to blame his own son, even if Rauf tells the tale
aright. If Gird hadn’t fought back, Oreg would’ve known he owed me
sommat, a bit of bacon even. And Sikan’s father—I want no quarrel
with him; his wife has the only pardon for dyecraft in this village. As