"Daley, Brian - Coramonde 01 - The Doomfarers of Coramande UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Daley Brian)

With this he brought his blade into line and moved forward on the Prince, who retreated a step, still hoping for the chance to break away and avoid a duel. To delay further, he said, "You and Fania and Bey forget one thing: Strongblade is still my father's son. It may be that he won't bend to your plans as readily as you think."
That brought the blademaster up short, but his face was filled with glee, not doubt. "Idiot child," he scoffed, "your 'stepbrother' is not Surehand's son, he is Yardiff Bey's! D'you think that's a hard thing for the greatest mage in the world to accomplish? It was no more difficult than slaying your mother by his arts; and those stupid Court physicians, how easily they were misled. He'd groomed Fania almost since birth for the one task of marrying your father andЧhi!Чhow it vexed him that just as he was about to introduce her at Court, Sure-hand married another. Well, all's remedied and things are on their proper course. Your father was well taken with Fania, even in his mourning, but on their wedding eve it was Yardiff Bey's seed in her belly; Strongblade is no part of your lineage. Bey's victory over the Crescent Lands will rest on three children of his body, the first a girl-child, the second male and the third both and neither,"
Eliatim told the tale with huge relish, enjoying its effect on Springbuck, venting long-checked hatred. "He
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purchased my soul, yes, but I'm satisfied with the bargain. We two closed a pact long and long ago on the High Ranges when the Horseblooded had cast me out, and he brought me to Earthfast when you were a week old. I've served him well and waited out this hour. When you're deadЧfew questions will be raised about your disappearance, I thinkЧI go on to better things and vengeance of my own."
He giggled again, a thing seldom heard from grim Eliatim. "But I keep digressing. Let us tally what you've learned from my lessons, for in one wise I've been honorable; I was engaged to teach you the arts of war and I have done it as best I could. Mayhap if you've paid sufficient attention you'll yet keep your life."
And he advanced, all jocularity gone in the application of his trade. The Prince circled warily, knowing that at his best he was not likely to match the other, who was himself something of a magician hi matters of bared blades.
Then, unlocked for, came a violent gust of wind, so strong and cold that it might have come from the straining lungs of an intervening deity, to blow out the little lantern and hurl a leafy branch into the face of shocked Eliatim. He gave a startled curse and brought his free hand up involuntarily. Springbuck knew that his chance had miraculously come. He had only to mount Fireheel and wheel into the nearby wood to escape under mantle of night and storm. He'd already gathered the gray's reins in hand when he stopped, for he was no longer alone with his foe in the darkness. Rather, he saw those of whom the blademaster had spoken, his motherЧor, more accurately, as he had no recollection of her, the pale death mask on her coffinЧMicko and Duskwind. And over all was the death of Hightower, merciless offi-ciation of Archog.
And all at once he felt the desire to sneak away, to escape like some hunted animal and leave more unavenged deaths behind him, driven out before another emotion, as one incoming wave is broken and scattered by the next. Shame drained his fright; fury made him contemptuous of his own helplessness.
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
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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 prudenceЧand 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 thoughtЧhis mind insulated now from the exertions of hand and eye to keep him aliveЧcame insight. He must depart utterly from his conservative style of swordplay, or die.
He could think of only one tactic to meet the need, though he considered and discarded a desperate fleche. He'd seen it only once, brought back from southern parts by Lord Roguespur and calledЧwhat was it?Ч the "ballestra."
Inspiration became motion. He poised his body and released it like a gyrfalcon from the gauntlet. With barely adequate stance, he pushed off with his left foot, right preceding him in search of purchase.
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THE DOOMFARERS OF CORAMONDE
He skimmed forward, fleet and lethal as the Angel of Death, the untried move coming to him with surreal ease, into an immediate lunge. The actions came as one, executed virtually as the idea occurred to him.
Eliatim's defense was there, but calculated to stop another feint or convictionless attack.,Bar slid by and found his throat, and the blademaster's point shot past the Prince's ear. Abruptly, Springbuck stood very close indeed to the great Eliatim as crimson gushed into Bar's blood channels and across its basket hilt. He barely retained the presence of mind to pull his sword free, and gaped in wide-eyed amazement His adversary sank to the unheeding surface of the Western Tangent, corpse-face covered with steaming blood and disbelief.
The Prince slowly wiped Bar clean on Eliatim's sleeve and returned it to its scabbard.
"I shall go Doomfaring now, in earnest," he whispered through persistent rain, "and what final lessons you have taught me tonight, I shall never forget!"
And his sudden laughter rang above the wind.
I galloped out of Earthfast, with running in my head, And putting leagues behind before the Queen's guard
knew I'd fled
1 killed a man in darkness, to live until the day, And whether that were wrong or not, I can't, unbiased,
say.
But he was dead and I alive, and you may take from me That as I fought, I knew that's how I wanted things to be.
From The Antechamber Ballads, personal compositions attributed to
Springbuck
Chapter Five
So many gay swordes, so many altered wordes, and so few covered boardes,
saw 1 never So many empty purses, so few good horses, and so many curses, saw I never.
JOHN SKELTON,
"The Manner of the World Nowadays"
HE cast Eliatim's body back into the trees from which it had emerged. The horses presented a knottier problem.