"P. N. Elrod & Nigel Bennet - Keeper of the King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

father, Richard had grimly done his Christian duty and turned the other cheek to
keep peace in the house, but it was damned difficult at times. More and more often
his whispered confessions to the priests included his great temptation to pound Dear
Brother to a jelly. Even after a day such as this he could do so without much effort,
and oh, but didn't Dear Brother know that well enough? The priests, of course,
cautioned him against so grave a sin, and he reverently submitted to the penance
without a murmur. No one could accuse him of disdaining the knightly virtues.
But enough of that. Memories of the past and fair dreams for the future could
wait. All thought, all attention must be fixed upon what was to come. That purse of
gold wasn't yet tied to his belt; he had to first earn it. This new opponent had
unquestionably fought well, defeating more than a dozen veteran fighters to get this
far; it would be foolish to underestimate him just because he was a boy.
I was that young once, that desperate to prove myself. Why should he be any
different?
Richard continued to hold still, letting his cold gaze pound against the boy's
scratched and dented helmet. He was distant enough to not be able to see the boy's
eyes, but stillтАж Can you feel that, young pup?
The boy held still in turn, perhaps wise to Richard's game and attempting to play
as well. The stillness seemed to spread out from them, encompassing the field, the
crowd, until the least murmur was stifled to silence. For the tiniest moment Richard
thought he could hear their very breath in their throats.
 Then in the stands, the kerchief fell. Battle was joined.
Those who watched would tell later that this was the greatest struggle they had
ever witnessed. It was a struggle between man and boy, between experience and
youth, confidence and desperation.
At first, little happened. The two adversaries circled each other warily, searching
for weakness or fear. Then quick as lightning, they fell to it. For over an hour, the
clanging of sword on shield, of metal against metal rang out across the damp
Normandy countryside. For over an hour, it was the only sound to be heard, as if
not merely this crowd of watchers but the whole world held its breath. No bird sang,
no animal called, no infant cried. All was rapt attention, centered on the contest.
Initially, the young boy clearly had the upper hand.
He'd used his moment of respite well, and was full of energy and spirit. He
attacked with all the confidence of being sixteen and immortal. His sword arced
through the air time and again, driving Richard back. It looked to all that the older
man had finally, brutally met his match.
Richard, however, felt only serenity in his soul. He'd faced this many times
before. Indeed, it was often a tactic of his to allow a brash opponent the upper hand
in the early going to tire him out. Then he would come on full strength and finish off
the unfortunate. He'd convinced himself that this was the case now, and sure
enough, the boy was slowing, and the force behind his wild blows had faded.
Richard chose to forget the fact that he had been truly shocked by the sheer ferocity
of the boy's initial rush.
Now it was his turn. He hefted his great sword and swung it into smooth,
practiced motion, this time for attack, not defense. The boy staggered well back
under the onslaught, and for the first time, a collective murmur arose from the
crowd. Richard basked in their gift of approval, all but feasted on it in the brief
pause as the boy fought to recover himself. Time now to undermine his confidence
while he was yet vulnerable.
"I will have all you possess, all you desire. You are mine, boy."