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

right hand. His way lit by occasional bolts from above, he trotted off eastward.
Thoughts buzzed around each other, vying for his attention. He knew that he'd been lucky in his
duel with his late instructor. Still, he perceived that there was more substance to the encounter
than that. He'd thought for himself, taken a gamble when the situation demanded, won on the
resources of eye and hand and brain alone. It was possible, he thought, that he'd been undersold
to himself all along.
35
36
THE DOOMFARERS OF CORAMONDE
Eliatim's other words came back to him, particularly those that made reference to his mother. Had
Bey, as Eliatim had implied, caused the death of that Lady, to clear the path for Fania?
The Tangent, raised above the surrounding ground and gently pitched to either side, drained itself
of water quickly as the rain abated. Some traffic moved there already: farmers on foot or with
carts bringing goods to market, a troop of traveling players bearing torches, forming a swirl of
color and motion and song, an officious dispatch rider hastening past them all, various merchants.
Springbuck, relieved at the lack of troops on the Tangent, was the only one bound eastward and so,
the way being wide, went quickly. The solution to the problem of his extra horse came to him at
dawn, when he encountered a band of tinkers camped at the roadside.
Rather than being bound toward Kee-Amaine, they were about to swing southward. There was brief
haggling, and the Prince rode on with a considerable sum of money and some provisions, comfortably
sure that the roncm's brands and cropping would be promptly obliterated.


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He loosened his cloak as the sun warmed him. Elation over his victory against Eliatim swept into
him again. He reappraised himself in light of his own simple and profound decision to stand and
fight. He was exhilarated but steady, confident but unimpulsive,
Fireheel happily increased their distance eastward, and a new Springbuck rode into the day, of a
far different mettle than he with whom Fania's forces had been so sure they could cope.
It was two days later, and well along in the afternoon, when he reined in magnificent Fireheel on
the summit of a low hill to gaze upon Erub.
Ms hunger had been growing for hours, his provisions gone since breakfast. He would have preferred
to spend his nights in some inn or tavern on the way, if only to sleep on a bench by the hearth,
but had avoided the Tangent since that first dawn for fear of apprehension skirting the odd farm
or crofter's hut he'd spied.
Of Deaths, Of Departure
37
Seeing the end of the narrow, rutted road was good compensation for this, though. The little town
was in a valley spread below, and on a rise beyond stood an undersized castle of antiquated
design. He knew from his own research at Earthfast that the castle was unten-anted.
A silence hung over Erub as he rode past the crude daub-and-wattle hut that was its outermost
limit. He saw no one living, but came upon the dead and all-but-dead in numbers. There were
villagers scattered here and there, war arrows in them or the bitter, evident tales of sword and
lance wounds.
He rode with hand close to hilt and, coming closer to the square at the center of town,
encountered a remarkable thing: soldiers of Coramonde, light cavalrymen, lay slain near an
improvised barricade. Of these, many bore injuries from scythe or pitchfork or were pierced with
hunting shafts. Many others, though, had odd wounds through their vests of ring mail, small,