"Gordon R. Dickson - The Last Dream" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

Secoh was gone. So were the leftover bones.

тАЬBlast!тАЭ said Jim. But the morning was too nice for annoyance. He smiled at his mental picture of Secoh
carefully gathering the bones in fearful silence, and sneaking them away.

The smile did not last long. When he tried to take off in a northerly direction, as determined by reference
to the rising sun, he found he had charley horses in both the huge wing-muscles that swelled out under the
armor behind his shoulders. The result of course, of yesterdayтАЩs heavy exercise. Grumbling, he was
forced to proceed on foot; and four hours later, very hot, muddy and wet, he pulled his weary body up
onto the broad east-and-west-stretching strip of land which must, of necessity, be the Great Causeway.
It ran straight as a Roman road through the meres, several feet higher than the rest of the fenland, and
was solid enough to support good-sized trees. Jim collapsed in the shade of one with a heartfelt sigh.

He awoke to the sound of someone singing. He blinked and lifted his head. Whatever the earlier verses
of the song had been, Jim had missed them; but the approaching baritone voice now caroled the words
of the chorus merrily and clearly to his ear:

тАЬA right good sword, a constant mind, A trusty spear and true! The dragons of the mere shall find
What Nevile-Smythe can do!тАЭ

The tune and words were vaguely familiar. Jim sat up for a better look and a knight in full armor rode into
view on a large white horse through the trees. Then everything happened at once. The knight saw him,
the visor of his armor came down with a clang, his long spear seemed to jump into his mailed hand and
the horse under him leaped into a gallop, heading for Jim. GorbashтАЩs reflexes took over. They hurled Jim
straight up into the air, where his punished wing muscles cracked and faltered. He was just able to
manage enough of a fluttering flop to throw himself into the upper branches of a small tree nearby.

The knight skidded his horse to a stop below and looked up through the spring-budded branches. He
tilted his visor back to reveal a piercing pair of blue eyes, a rather hawk-like nose and a jutting generous
chin, all assembled into a clean-shaven young-manтАЩs face. He looked eagerly up at Jim.

тАЬCome down,тАЭ he said.

тАЬNo thanks,тАЭ said Jim, hanging firmly to the tree. There was a slight pause as they both digested the
situation.

тАЬDashed caitiff mere-dragon!тАЭ said the knight finally, with annoyance.

тАЬIтАЩm not a mere-dragon,тАЭ said Jim.

тАЬOh, donтАЩt talk rot!тАЭ said the knight.

тАЬIтАЩm not,тАЭ repeated Jim. He thought a minute. тАЬIтАЩll bet you canтАЩt guess who I really am.тАЭ

The knight did not seem interested in guessing who Jim really was. He stood up in his stirrups and probed
through the branches with his spear. The point did not quite reach Jim.

тАЬDamn!тАЭ Disappointedly, he lowered the spear and became thoughtful. тАЬI can climb the dashed tree,тАЭ he
muttered to himself. тАЬBut then what if he flies down and I have to fight him unhorsed, eh?тАЭ