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

double reckoning in blood from the bastard responsible for his death. Was I
going to shove it down the enchanterТs throat or ram it edgeways up his arse? I
mused. Whichever, IТd sharpen the edges first, just to make a point. By rights
that debt was our masterТs to claim or remit, but I had made a private vow of
vengeance and hammered a nail deep into the door of DastenninТs shrine to affirm
it. We make no formal vows as we do to our patron, but the loyalties between
sworn men are no less strong.
No, it was time to move on, I told myself. After all but losing myself to the
drowning sorrow of my sisterТs death from fever in my youth, I had found new
purpose in taking service with Messire, hadnТt I? My duty was to him, my sword
his to command.
The usual rat-infested hovel that passes for an inn in Lescar came into view as
I crested a rise in the road. I was still holding my sword at my side, sticky
with bloody detritus, so I gave my horse his head at the water trough and took
possession of a rickety bench where I spread out oil and rags to clean the
solstice gift Messire DТOlbriot had given me in recognition of my trials in his
service the previous year.
It says a lot about Lescar that it wasnТt the sight of a man cleaning a bloody
weapon that startled the pinch-faced little maid coming out to empty her ash
bucket, but my accent; my Lescari has all been learned on MessireТs business
around the border with home. I couldnТt fathom her concern; she only had about
ten words of Tormalin, though I doubt she could have counted them. Eventually I
gathered there was no fresh roast, so I took the gritty bread and sour cheese
offered but declined the grayish stew, congealed in the pot from the night
before. Evidently exceeding the reckoning with good Tormalin pennies, I won a
startled smile when I declined the halved and quartered coin pieces she tried to
offer me. I have no use for Lescari coin, even when itТs whole.
As I ate I fished out the letter I carried, brought by the Imperial Despatch to
rescue me from the taut emotions of AitenТs sorrowing family and sending me to
ride the empty roads of Lescar over the Equinox festival. Well, that at least
had been preferable to lining up with my brothers to entertain the nicely
eligible daughters of MotherТs sewing circle. I took up the letter and the
description on the outside caught my eye again, still making me smile.
Ryshad Tathel. An armspan and four fingers tall, thinly built but muscular. Hair
black and curly, eyes brown, dark complected, clean shaven. Softly spoken but
with a determined manner.
My father would have phrased it rather differently: Уstubborn as a mule and
twice as hard to shift when he digs his heels inФ is what he had said of me to
MessireТs Sergeant-at-Arms. That last sentence was written in a different hand.
So, Camarl was rising rapidly in MessireТs counsels if he was being allowed to
add personal notes to the SieurТs letters. Saedrin grant it will be many years
before the men of the family have to gather to elect a new head for the House of
DТOlbriot, but it was starting to look as if I could win a tidy sum with a wager
on Camarl. Perhaps I should lay some coin soon, while the odds were still long
on a sisterТs younger son succeeding.
From Messire DТOlbriot, given at his Toremal residence, the 26th day of
Tor-Spring, to Ryshad Tathel, sworn man.
I send my greetings and my wishes that your trip provides consolation both to
yourself and the family bereaved by AitenТs loss.
I take this opportunity to repeat my own sorrow at his fate as well as the