"Clayton Emery - Robin Hood's Treasure" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

"Oh, no, you don't!" Robin caught up to the horse before it set its back
hooves. He swung the sword wide and cut a back leg to the bone.
The horse screamed and reared. The man screamed too. Robin swung
again and chopped the beast's leg below the fetlock. The horse slewed
sideways, stumbled, and crashed to the earth. Old Tomkin crashed
along with it. He was quick enough to pull his leg clear so the horse
didn't pin it.
The horse shrieked and kicked. It chopped the forest loam into powder.
Robin Hood skipped to its front and chopped the windpipe, then jumped
aside to avoid the spray. The beast thrashed and fell still. The round
brown eyeballs glazed over.
Robin Hood stood back and signalled with his thumb at Tom. "Can you
get up?"
Tom was shakey but upright. He nodded, his mouth open and dry.
Robin waggled his thumb again. "Then drop your belt and get out."
He was gone in a moment, hobbling off down the trail after his
companions.
Robin Hood stood for a while, breathing deep and wiping his forehead.
Eventually he cleaned his sword on the dead horse's tail. He unstrapped
the saddle and tugged it clear. The leather bag contained gold, right
enough, though not more than twenty marks by a quick count.
Robin wondered about that: hadn't they bragged there was sixty-some?
Could they have spent some, or hidden it? He thought about carrying
the gold into the cave, but he'd had a treasure there and it was gone.
He stashed the bag under some bushes instead.
He hauled the dead knight out of the cave and, for lack of a better
place, stacked him with the dead horse. "What a waste," he remarked
to the air. "Can't eat either."
He fetched out his scabbard and baldric and hung them on. He strung
his old bow, found a spare quiver and filled it with arrows. He catfooted
after Rufus's horse, crooned and cooed to it. "You're a valuable piece
yourself, aren't you, hmmm? That's right. Good fellow. Animals are
smart. They don't chase after money, do they?" After some
nose-patting and neck-rubbing, he got mounted and settled.
"And where do we go?" Robin asked his new horse. He yawned. "I
thought I wasn't sleepy. Well, let's see what transpires on the road. It
can't be any more busy there than it's been here."


"Hello? Hello?"
Alphonse had found his way back to the camp largely by luck. Robin
Hood's camp was far from the road, but all trails seemed to lead there.
The camp was a riot. The deer he'd partaken of earlier was a scorched
heap on the grass. Nearby was the carcass of a horse, slashed in
several places, its saddle torn loose. A knight lay dead next to it. Crows
picked over both, but flew off at his approach. With his heart pounding
to burst, Alphonse came close enough to recognize the man. It was one
of the wastrel knights who'd burnt his mother's barn and home.
The boy's hands shook as he opened the saddlebag full of gold. He had
carried it first in one hand, then the other, then behind his back, then in