"Raymond E. Feist - Riftwar Legends - Honoured Enemy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

toes were already showing signs of frostbite. His hands shook slightly, and his voice was near to
breaking.
The priest fell silent, and took a long moment to compose himself. At last, he let out a long
sigh, then looked over to Dennis who stood alone, at the edge of the clearing. 'What is wrong with
your commander?' he asked.
'His oldest friend is in that grave,' Gregory said quietly, nodding down at the eighteen bodies
lying side by side in the narrow trench hacked out of the freezing ground. 'Jurgen served Dennis's
grandfather before he served the grandson. The land the Tsurani now occupy, part of it once
belonged to Dennis's family. His father was Squire of Valinar, a servant of Lord Brucal. They lost
everything early on in the war. Word of the invasion hadn't even reached Valinar before the
Tsurani. The old Squire and his men didn't even know who they were fighting when they died. Dennis


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and Jurgen were among a handful of survivors of the initial assault; Jurgen was his last link to
that past.' Gregory paused, transferring his gaze to Father Corwin. 'And now that link is gone.'
'I'm sorry,' the priest replied softly, 'I wish none of this had ever happened,'
'Well, Father, it happened,' Gregory said evenly. .
The priest looked up at him, and there was moisture in his eyes. 'I'm sorry,' he said one more
time.
Gregory nodded. 'As my grandmother said, "Sorry won't unbreak the eggs." Just clean up the mess
and move on. Let's find you some boots or you'll lose all your toes before tomorrow.'
'Where?'
'Off the dead of course.' Gregory indicated boots, weapons, and cloaks that had been stripped off
the dead before they were buried.
'They don't need them any more, and the living do,' he added matter-of-factly. 'We honour their
memory, but it's no use burying perfectly good weapons and boots with them.' He motioned with his
chin. 'That pair over there looks about your size.'
Father Corwin shuddered but went over and picked up the boots, the Natalese had indicated
As the priest untied his sandals, Alwin Barry, the newly-appointed sergeant for the company,
approached the edge of the grave, picked up a clump of frozen earth and tossed it in.
'Save a seat for me in Tith's Hall,' he muttered, invoking the old belief among soldiers that the
valiant were hosted for one night of feasting and drinking by the God of War before being sent to
Lims-Kragma for judgment. Barry bowed his head for a moment in respect, then turned away, heading
over to the trail that went through the middle of the clearing, and called for the men to form up
in marching order.
Others hurriedly approached the grave, picking up handfuls of dirt and tossing them in. Some made
signs of blessing; one uncorked a drinking flask, raised it, took a drink then emptied the rest of
the brandy into the grave and threw the flask in.
Burial was not the preferred disposition of the dead in the Kingdom, but more than one soldier
rested under the soil over the centuries and soldiers had their own rituals for saying farewell to
the dead, rituals that had nothing to do with priests and gods. This wasn't about sending comrades
off to the Halls of Lims-Kragma, for they were already on their way. This was about saying goodbye
to men who had shed their blood alongside them just hours before. This was about saying farewell
to brothers.
Richard Kevinsson, the company's newest recruit, was one of the last to approach. A young squire
from Landonare, who had escaped from there when the Tsurani had overrun his family's estates, he
had joined full of blood and fire, vowing vengeance. Now there were tears in his eyes, his