"Von Beck - 01 - The War Hound And The World's Pain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

Even the ravens of the battlegrounds had fallen dead upon the remains of their carrion, bits of rotting flesh still in their beaks, their bodies stiff, their eyes dull as they stared into the meaningless void, neither Heaven, Hell nor yet Limbo (where there is, after all, still a little hope).



I began to believe that ray horse and myself were the only creatures allowed, by some whim of Our Lord, to remain as witnesses to the doom of His Creation.



If it were God's intention to destroy His world, as it seemed, then I had lent myself most willingly to His purpose.



I had trained myself to kill with ease, with skill, with a cunning efficiency and lack of ambiguity. My treacheries were always swift and decisive. I had learned the art of passionless torture in pursuit of wealth and information. I knew how to terrify in order to gain my ends, whether they be the needs of the flesh or in the cause of strategy.



I knew how to soothe a victim as gently as any butcher soothes a lamb. I had become a splendid thief of grain and cattle so that my soldiers should be fed and remain as loyal as possible to me.



I was the epitome of a good mercenary captain; a soldier-of-fortune envied and emulated; a survivor of every form of danger, be it battle, Plague or pox, for I had long since accepted things as they were and had ceased either to question or to complain.



I was Captain Ulrich von Bek and I was thought to be lucky.



The steel I wore, helmet, breastplate, greaves and gloves, was of the very best, as was the sweat-soaked silk of my shirt, the leather of my boots and breeches. My weapons had been selected from the richest of those I had killed and were all, pistols, sword, daggers and musket, by the finest smiths. My horse was large and hardy and excellently furnished.



I had no wounds upon my face, no marks of disease, and, if my bearing was a little stiff, it gave me, I was told, an air of dignified authority, even when I conducted the most hideous destruction.



Men found me a good commander and were glad to serve with me. I had grown to some fame and had a nickname, occasionally used: Krieghund.



They said I had been born for War. I found such opinions amusing.



My birthplace was in Bek. I was the son of a pious nobleman who was loved for his good works. My father had protected and cared for his tenants and his estates. He had respected God and his betters. He had been learned, after the standards of this time, if not after the standards of the Greeks and Romans, and had come to the Lutheran religion through inner debate, through intellectual investigation, through discourse with others. Even amongst Catholics he was known for his kindness and had once been seen to save a Jew from stoning in the town square. He had a tolerance for almost every creature.