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

Garth had come out ahead in that encounter by stealing the basilisk back and
later killing it before the Baron could recover it-but that had so annoyed the
Baron that, when Garth returned as a trader, he was systematically insulted,
humiliated, and forced to swear the oath he now hoped to have revoked.
They were well into the inhabited area now, but there were no people to
be seen; Garth guessed that they had been warned by the guards and had taken
shelter. He caught sight of someone on the street ahead, making hand signals
to someone else Garth could not see before the signaler vanished around a
corner. Whatever other advantages the overmen might have, they would not have
the element of surprise.
They didn't need it, Garth told himself. An overman could easily handle
any two humans, and a warbeast half a dozen; and Skelleth's entire military
was comprised of about three dozen guards-perhaps not quite that many, since
the Baron had executed Amer and dismissed Saram as a result of Garth's earlier
visits and might not have replaced them yet. His company could deal with the
guards easily, should it become necessary.
If the civilian population were to attack them, though, there might be a
real problem. Garth had no idea what Skelleth's population was; he doubted
anyone knew. It didn't matter, he assured himself. This was to be a peaceful
demonstration, not a battle.
The streets remained deserted, save for occasional figures ahead who
vanished as soon as they signaled that the overmen were approaching. Garth
spotted three of these before he led his party into the northwest corner of
the marketplace.
The square was not deserted. There were no merchants, no farmers, none
of the ordinary villagers going about their business; instead, there were two
dozen guardsmen lined up neatly in front of the Baron's mansion, along the
north side of the market. They were divided into two equal groups, one on
either side of the central door, with each group arranged three deep and four
abreast. Every man wore a shoddy mail tunic and held a drawn short sword;
every head wore a leather helmet, and every belt bore a dagger. Four of the
helmets were studded with iron, indicating that their wearers were
lieutenants; these men were located in the center of each block.
This pitiful squad, Garth realized, represented the armed might of
Skelleth, the once-great fortress from which his people had cowered in fear
for three hundred years. He suppressed an urge to laugh in their faces as he
marched his own force into the center of the square, swinging around to the
south to come to a halt in some semblance of formation, directly facing the
human soldiers. In this half-circuit of the market, he and his troops got
their first good look at the civilian population of Skelleth; the people were
crowded into every street that entered the square, except for the one the
overmen had marched on. They watched with varied emotions the arrival of their
traditional foes. None stepped across the invisible line dividing the market
from the rest of the village.
Whispers, rustles, and shuffling feet were audible, but no one spoke
aloud until Garth bellowed, "We have come to speak with the Baron of
Skelleth!"
The sounds shifted subtly; fewer feet scraped the dirt, more voices
whispered. From the corners of his eyes Garth could see the mouths of two
streets; both were full of people, all ragged and dirty, and almost all thin