"McKenna,.Juliet.E.-.Einarinn.02.-.Swordsman's.Oath" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

pass your time, isnТt it, wringing the gooseТs neck?Ф
His fellow footpads snickered at this, but I am long past the days when cheap
insults enraged me. A true swordsman knows hot fury kills more men than cold
steel. I backed away another pace, drawing him forward beyond the dubious
protection of his fellows. MessireТs militia are never so easily gulled, not
after IТve brought them to heel.
УSo what have you got to say for yourself, curly? Come on, hand over your coin
and that belt-pouch for a start! Well, answer me, curse you, unless youТre too
busy shitting yourself.Ф
My continued silence was unnerving Foul-MouthТs supporters by now, as I
intended.
УAll right, lads, letТs have the bastard!Ф He took a bold step, rusty blade
leveled.
I glared at the closest one to Foul-MouthТs off hand, who took an involuntary
pace back. Idiocy was about to kill his mate, that and my sword, but if any of
them chose to run I wasnТt about to waste my time hunting them down.
Foul-Mouth lunged at me, off hand flailing. I stepped sideways to smack his
blade up with the flat of my sword. He took his chance to swing his dirty blade
around for a skull-splitting strike. I moved in and as his arm came up I rolled
my wrist to drive the point of my keenly polished sword under and deep into his
armpit. He collapsed like a ruptured wineskin, blood frothing from his mouth,
drowning his shrieks of panic and pain. The others swore in guttural Lescari and
one rushed me, stupidity apparently something they shared along with their lice.
Sure of my footing, I brought my sword around at belly level, his instinctive
parry sending him staggering back. He swung wildly, I evaded the blow with ease
and swept low but he managed to leap sideways in time to save his kneecaps and I
found I was facing two of them, his mate having found some semblance of courage.
If theyТd had any more training than learning which end of a sword was the
handle I might have had some trouble, but a few rapid strokes hacked through his
guard and dropped the first to his knees, clutching the bloody ruin of
splintered bone that had once been his sword arm. I punched the luckless mongrel
with my off hand and he scrambled into the bushes, howling through split lips,
while the slowest to join battle took to his heels like a scalded hound,
slipping in the mud in his haste to save his boil-scarred skin, not even the wit
to try grabbing my horse.
That left me with a lad, tears carving pale streaks down his filthy face, slime
running from his crooked nose as he panted in terror through broken teeth. Life
had been kicking this lad in the face since before he could walk.
I managed to rein in my anger; it had been a long and none too happy season for
me thus far but that was no excuse for losing control. It had certainly felt
good to give vent to the slow-burning rage at AitenТs untimely death that I kept
locked in the back of my mind, but I could not afford to indulge such feelings.
I glanced quickly round, saw my horse now browsing on a patch of new grass and
considered simply ignoring the boy. No, Dast curse him; he had done nothing to
merit such consideration. I feinted to his off side, he swung his trembling
weapon in a futile stroke but I had my blade at his throat before he had a hope
of recovering. He dropped his stained sword and steam coiled damply around his
feet as he pissed himself.
УMercy, mercy,Ф he stammered. УPlease, your honor, IТll not do the like again, I
swear it, any oath you like, mercy, for pityТs sake, Saedrin save meЧФ