"Peter David - Sir Apropos 01 - Sir Apropos Of Nothing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

Chapter 1



As I stood there with the sword in my hand, the blade dripping blood on the floor, I couldn't help but
wonder if the blood belonged to my father.

The entire thing had happened so quickly that I wasn't quite sure how to react. Part of me wanted to
laugh, but most of me fairly cringed at what had just occurred. I didn't do particularly well with blood.
This tended to be something of a hardship for one endeavoring to become a knight, dedicated to serving
good King Runcible of Isteria, a ruler who more often than not had his heart in the right place.

The recently slain knight also had his heart in the right place. This had turned out to be something of an
inconvenience for him. After all, if his heart had been in the wrong place, then the sword wouldn't have
pierced it through, he wouldn't be dead, and I wouldn't have been in such a fix.

I stood there stupidly in the middle of Granitz's chambers. Like much of the rest of the castle, it was
somewhat chilly...all the more so because I was only partly dressed and the sweat on my bare skin was
feeling unconscionably clammy. There were long, elegant candles illuminating the room, giving it a rosy
glow, since thick drapes had been drawn over the large windows to keep out both daylight and prying
eyes. From nearby on the large and damaged four-poster bed, my lover--and the knight's wife (well,
widow)--was letting out short gasps, trying to pull air into her lungs and only marginally succeeding. The
tiled floor seemed to tilt under me for a moment, and I steadied myself as my mind raced, trying to
determine what the hell I was going to do next.

The knight's name had been Sir Granitz of the Ebony Swamps, although he was generally referred to
as "Sir Granite." The nickname had been well earned, for on the battlefield he had been indeed a sight to
see. I had seen it myself, many a time...from a safe distance, of course, since my mother, God bless her,
had not raised an idiot for a son. Understand: I did not, nor have I ever, shrunk from a fight when it was
absolutely necessary. However, my definition of "absolutely necessary" wasn't precisely in keeping with
that of everyone else in my immediate sphere.

For people like Granite, "absolutely necessary" included times of war, matters of honor, and similar
esoterica. For me, the term "absolutely necessary" meant "self-defense." I considered war to be an utter
waste of my time and energy, since most wars involved people I did not know arguing over matters I did
not care about in pursuit of goals that would not have any direct impact upon me. As for honor, that was
an ephemeral consideration. Honor did not feed, clothe, or protect me, and seemed to exist primarily to
get otherwise inoffensive creatures into a world of trouble.

"Self-defense," however, was a consideration that I could easily comprehend. Whether it be an
envious knight attacking me on horseback, an enraged dragon belching plumes of flame, or a squadron of
berserker trolls swarming over the ramparts of a castle, those were instances where my own neck was at
stake and I would happily hack and slash as the situation required so that I might live to see another
sunrise.
 I liked sunrises. They made anything seem possible.

Now, Granite...he was the type who would fight anywhere, anytime, at the least provocation. That is
precisely the kind of attitude that gets one killed at a young age if one is not a formidable fighter. To his
credit, that certainly described Granite. Well over six feet tall and built like a brick outhouse, he often
found it necessary to enter a room sideways, his shoulders being too broad to be accommodated by a