"Dragonlance - Deathgate 1 - Dragon Wing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragonlance)
Magicka, with a furious snort, waved his hand. "Why not? Carry my lord's murderer away on my lord's most prized dragon! King's business, after all!"
"Yes, it is," said the courier. "King's business."
The King's Own suddenly shifted their stance, turning their spears point outward and locking shields to form a circle of steel around the courier and those who stood near him.
"Perhaps there are some aspects of the king's business you would be interested in discussing with His Majesty. Our gracious monarch will be happy to arrange for the governing of this province in your absence, Magicka."
The shadow of the wings of the circling battle dragon slid over the courtyard.
"No, no," protested the wizard hastily. "King Stephen has no more loyal subject than myself! You may assure him of that!"
The courier bowed and answered Magicka with a charming smile. The soldiers surrounding him remained attentive and on alert.
Gareth, sweating beneath his leather helm, entered the circle of steel. The captain knew how close he'd come to being ordered to fight the King's Own and his stomach was still clenching.
"Here's your man," Gareth said gruffly, shoving Hugh forward.
The courier took in the prisoner with one swift glance that noted the lash marks on the back, the bruises and cuts on the face, the swollen lip. Hugh, his dark sunken eyes seeming to have vanished completely in the shadows beneath his brows, regarded the courier with a detached curiosity that held no hope, only a sardonic expectation of further torment.
"Cut loose his arms and unlock those manacles."
"But, my lord, he is dangerous-"
"He cannot ride like that and I have no time to waste. Do not worry"-the courier waved a negligent hand-"unless he can sprout wings, I do not think he will try to escape by leaping from the back of a flying dragon."
Gareth drew his dagger and cut the bonds around Hugh's arms. The stablemaster, summoning his helpers with a cry, gingerly entered the ring of steel, removed the saddle from the courier's spent mount, and put it on the back of Lord Rogar's dragon. Patting the dragon's neck, the stablemaster cheerfully passed the reins to the courier. The old man would not see the dragon again; whatever came into King Stephen's hands never left. But it was far better to lose it than be forced to thrust a knife into the throat of a creature who loved and trusted him, then watch its life spill out, wasted on a man dead and gone.
The courier mounted. Reaching down his hand, he held it out to Hugh. The assassin appeared for the first time to comprehend the fact that he was freed, his head was not on the block, that terrible sword was not about to sever his life. Moving stiffly and painfully, he stretched out his hand, caught hold of the courier's, and let the man pull him up on the dragon's back.
"Bring him a cloak. He'll freeze," ordered the courier. Many capes were offered, and he selected one of thick fur and tossed it to Hugh. The prisoner wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, reached back and gripped firmly the rim of the dragon's saddle. The courier spoke a word of command and the dragon, with a trumpeting call, spread his wings and soared upward.
The leader of the King's Own gave an ear-piercing whistle. The battle dragon flew down until the ropes dangling from its back were within the soldiers' reach. Swiftly they climbed back up and took their places on the dragon's large flat back. The dragon lifted its wings, and within moments the shadow was lifted, the sky was empty, night's gray gloom returned.
In the courtyard below, men glanced at each other in silence, their faces grim. Women, eyeing their husbands and sensing the tense atmosphere, hurriedly rounded up children, sharply reprimanding or slapping those who whined.
Magicka, his face livid, stalked into the keep.
Gareth waited until the wizard had departed, then ordered his men to set fire to the bier. The flames crackled as the men and women gathered around and began to sing their lord's soul to his ancestors. The captain of the knights sang a song for the lord he had loved and loyally served for thirty years. When he finished, he watched the leaping, roaring flames consume the body.
"So you never killed a wizard? Hugh, my friend, you might yet get your chance. If I ever see you again . . . King's business!" Gareth grunted. "If you don't show up, well, I'm an old man with nothing left to live for." His eyes went to the wizard's quarters, where a robed silhouette could be seen looking out the window. Having his duties to attend to, the captain walked to the gate* to make certain all was secure for the night.
Forgotten, an artist bereft of his art, Three-Chop Nick sat disconsolately upon the block.
CHAPTER 4
SOMEWHERE, VOLKARAN ISLES, MID REALM
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