"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 3 - Sword Of Bheleu" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

by your three commanders: Galt, Kyrith, and me. Is that understood?"
There was a reluctant chorus of assent.
"Good. Then take a moment to brush yourselves off, so that we will look
suitably impressive when we confront the Baron, and get back into formation."
A moment later, again impressive in shining armor and neat formation,
the company renewed its advance down the street toward the center of Skelleth.
Garth regretted once again that he did not have time to teach the overmen to
march in step and hold a properly tight formation; that, he thought, would
really have provided a show!
Ahead of them, Herrenmer met his fleeing soldiers halfway between the
wall and the square and gathered them together and brought them back into some
semblance of discipline. He had to knock a few heads to do it, but he managed.
Once that was done, he made his plans. He knew that his little force could not
stop the overmen in open combat, and there wasn't time to set up a decent
ambush along the road. Therefore, the best course of action would be to
withdraw to the marketplace and meet them there. Accordingly, he formed his
men up in a column and marched them back to the square.
Along the way he wondered just what magic the overmen actually
possessed. The old legends of the Racial Wars made no mention of overmen using
magic. The wizards had fought almost invariably on the human side; at least,
so he had heard.
It wasn't really his concern; he was a simple soldier. Magic was for
others to worry about; he could only do the best he could with what he had.
As Garth passed the first houses that still had roofs, he was
considering what he would say to the Baron. He glanced back over his shoulder
at the hilt of the Sword of Bheleu; it would not do to go into a berserk rage
while trying to negotiate trade concessions or have his oath renounced. The
Baron of Skelleth seemed to have a special talent for annoying Garth, who had
found the man difficult enough to deal with in the past without any
supernatural interference. He hoped that he would be able to keep his anger
down. Perhaps, he thought, the little display he had put on at the North Gate
had used up the sword's power for a while; he had felt no particular anger
since.
Its magical power aside, the sword was truly a beautiful and impressive
weapon, and he would regret parting with it. The blade was six feet of
gleaming steel; the hilt was made of some black, polished substance he
couldn't identify, the pommel was a silver claw clutching that immense red
jewel. It looked like a ruby, though it was hard to believe a ruby could be
that large. Whatever it was, it was the color of fresh blood, and he was
relieved to see, glancing back, that though it sparkled in the afternoon sun
at the moment, it did not appear to be glowing.
He would definitely have to get rid of the thing. It might even have
been wise to dispose of it before speaking with the Baron, but he could not
bring himself to do so. That would have left him virtually unarmed, and he
wanted every advantage when confronting Doran of Skelleth.
His first sight of the Baron had been as the man presided over the
execution of the guardsman whose negligence had allowed Garth to enter
Skelleth unannounced the first time he came south; the townspeople had blamed
Garth for the man's death. The Baron had demanded at swordpoint that Garth
turn over to him the basilisk that he had just gone to great trouble to fetch.