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

Tinuva closed his eyes for a moment, as if to aid his thinking. 'Hard to tell,' he whispered. 'We
eledhel have history with the moredhel.'
Gregory gave a quick shake of his head to Dennis, warning him not to ask anything more.
'They are as difficult to track as we are, unless they are close by or out in large numbers.' He
looked northward again. 'Up there, distant, but in large numbers, I would judge.'
'Why?' asked Father Corwin, who was standing at the edge of the group.
Several of the men turned to look at the priest. Suddenly embarrassed, Father Corwin lowered his
eyes.
No one answered. Finally the elf stirred.
'Holy one,' Tinuva said, softly. 'Something is beginning to stir amongst those you call the
Brotherhood of the Dark Path. This war with the Tsurani diverts us away from the threat of the
dark ones to the north. Perhaps they see an advantage to be gained from humans slaughtering each
other. Perhaps they seek to return south to the Green Heart and the Grey Towers - it isn't hard to
imagine they've worn out their welcome with the clans of the Northlands after nine winters.'
Gregory said, 'Are they moving south?'
Tinuva shrugged. 'The hunters whose signs I saw may have been foraging ahead of a larger company,
or on the flank. It's difficult to know if they're heading south or in this direction.'
'All the more reason for us to get the hell out of here now,' Dennis interjected sharply. 'We've
been behind the lines too damn long as it is; the men deserve to spend the rest of the winter in
Tyr-Sog getting drunk and spending their pay on whores.'
He looked back at the burial party. They were nearly finished; a couple of men were dragging out
deadfall and branches to throw over the grave. Several of the men were already returning to the
ranks, hooking the short-handled shovels onto their backpacks. A trained eye could easily pick out
the burial site today but if it continued to snow, by tomorrow the grave and the nearby Tsurani
dead would have disappeared. By springtime, when the snows melted and grass fed by the richness
beneath sprang up, it would have disappeared back into the forest.
'Alwin, move the men out.'
'Sir, you said you wanted to speak to the boy first,' Alwin replied softly.
Dennis nodded, scanning the line of troops. His gaze fell on Richard Kevinsson. 'Boy, over here
now,' he snapped.
Nervously Richard looked up.
'The rest of you start moving,' Dennis rapped out 'we want to make Brendan's Stockade and our own
lines by morning.'
Two men acting as trailbreakers sprinted forward, darting off to either side of the trail, lightly
jumping over deadfalls and around tree trunks. Within seconds they had disappeared into the
forest. Half a dozen men, the advanced squad, set out next, moving down the trail at a slow trot.
Richard Kevinsson approached, obviously ill-at-ease. 'Captain?' he asked, his voice shaking.
Dennis looked at Gregory, Tinuva, and the priest, his eyes commanding a dismissal. Tinuva stepped
away, bowed in respect to the grave, then joined the column, but Gregory and the priest lingered.
'Father, go join the wounded,' Dennis said sharply.
'I thank you for rescuing me, Captain,' Father Corwin replied, 'but I feel responsible for the
trouble this lad is in and I wish to stay with him.'
Dennis was about to bark an angry command, but a look in Gregory's eyes stilled him. He turned his
attention back to Richard. 'When we return to Baron Moyet's camp I will have you dropped from the
rolls of the company.'
'Sir?' Richard's voice started to break.
'I enrolled you in the company because I felt sorry for your loss, boy. It reminded me of my own,
I guess. But doing so was a mistake. In the last fortnight you have barely managed to keep up with
our march. I heard a rumour that you fell asleep while on watch two nights ago.'
He hesitated for an instant. It was Jurgen who had reported that, and then defended the boy,