"Brian Daley - Doomfarers of Coramonde" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daley Brian)

Springbuck stood like a stone statue while the other
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THE DOOMFARERS OF CORAMONDE
struck flint to rekindle the lantern. When it was done, Eliatim was astounded to see the son of
Surehand waiting, an unfamiliar light in his eye, but the martial instructor quit his mocking,
relieved laughter only when the Prince brought Bar slowly to guard.
As he was accustomed, Eliatim took the fencing distance that gave him maximum advantage: close
enough for him to hit, far enough to render many of the shorter Springbuck's moves overextensions.
The Prince felt a despair .coming over him, born of countless humbling experiences at Eliatim's
hands. Tension began to rob him of his natural fluidity.
Swords crossed tentatively in the wavering light, the master-of-arms waiting his pupil out. At
length, Springbuck began an attack-in-advance, feinting a disengage and hoping to turn a final
disengage into a lunge, but harbored little confidence of success; sure enough, Eliatim's blade
was elusive lightning. Another thrust from the Prince was met with a quick croise, and the son of
Surehand was lucky to escape with a slash along his upper arm which would have been serious, had
he not been wearing leathers. Springbuck changed lines of engagement several times, and Eliatim,
all cool control, followed suit almost indifferently.
Springbuck made a feint and was met with a flickering extension, but this was no news; Eliatim's
defense was as strong as his offense, and the stop-thrust was his heart's delight. The Prince felt
that Eliatim indeed foresaw his every thought, and decided that a second-intent attack launched
from a false one would be foolish.
Springbuck's heart was pounding, sweat slick on bis face. He could think of no feasible maneuver
of the blade that he had not tried on Eliatim a hundred times in vain. But this time, he thought
as Eliatim gave his blade a ringing beat, a faulty try would be met with deadliest rebuke.
Eliatim deceived the parry with which Springbuck replied to his beat, dropping his point just low
enough for the nervous parry to pass over it in derobement, then deliberately forfeited his chance
to attack in return, laughing at the Prince's hasty retreat.
Now Eliatim brought forth his virtuosity. His casual
Of Deaths, Of Departure
33
changes of tempo had Springbuck flinching in anticipation. The threat of his bind and the menace
of his false attacks made the younger man feel humiliatingly inadequate. But the new determination
flared in Springbuck again; how he wanted to see laughing Eliatim die!
He thought of the parrying dagger in his left boot top, and it occurred to him that if he could
bring it into play unexpectedly, the main-gauche might give him an advantage for one critical
exchange; but again, possibly not, since Eliatim fought in the new profiled style, forcing
Springbuck to do the same.
Determined not to be drawn out, but rather to wait out his chance, the Prince tried to put aside
his preoccupations and fence from the subcortical. In that combat, as hi lovemaking and music,
immediate past, present and immediate future took on a peculiar fusion. Neither man made much use
of his edge, and then: weapons joined in whirling motion, springing apart again to punctuation of
steel vibrating, chiming in notes almost too high to be heard.
In his surrender to reflexes, coming as it did in close pursuit of his decision to fight it out
with Eliatim, Springbuck found that a new and radical thought had blossomed in his mind: all his
life, Eliatim had been coaching him to lose this particular match.
The Prince had been taught patience, counseled prudenceтАФand infused with hesitation. Certainly
he'd become a superior swordsman, but he'd been ingrained with responses, that made him prey to
Eliatim.
And on the heels of this thoughtтАФhis mind insulated now from the exertions of hand and eye to keep
him aliveтАФcame insight. He must depart utterly from his conservative style of swordplay, or die.