"David Gemmell - Hawk Queen 1 - Ironhand' s Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

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David Gemmell
Ironhand's Daughter
First Book Of The Hawk Queen

PROLOGUE


SUNLIGHT GLINTED ON steel as the knife blade spun through the air to thud home in the chalk-
circled centre of the board. The woman chuckled. 'You lose again, Ballistar,' she said.

'I let you win,' the dwarf told her. 'For I am a creature of legend, and my skills are second to
none.' He smiled as he spoke, but there was sadness in his dark eyes and she reached out to cup
her hand to his bearded cheek. He leaned in to her touch, twisting his head to kiss her palm.

'You are the finest of men,' she said softly, 'and the gods - if gods there be - have not been
kind to you.'

Ballistar did not reply. Glancing up he drank in her beauty, the golden sheen of her skin, the
haunting power of her pale blue-grey eyes. At nineteen Sigarni was the most beautiful woman
Ballistar had ever seen, tall and slender, full-lipped and firm-breasted. Her only flaw was her
close-cropped hair, which shone like silver in the sunlight. It had turned grey in her sixth year,
after her parents were slain. The villagers called it the Night of the Slaughterers, and no one
would speak of it. Pushing himself to his feet he walked to the fence post, climbing the rail to
pull Sigarni's throwing knife from the board. She watched him stretching out his tiny arms, his
stunted fingers unable to curl fully around the hilt of her blade. At last he wrenched it clear,
then turned and jumped to the ground. He was no larger than a child of four, yet his head was huge
and his face heavily bearded. Ballistar returned her blade and she slid it home into the sheath at
her hip. Reaching to her right she lifted a pitcher of cool water and filled two clay goblets,
passing one to the dwarf.

Ballistar gave a wide grin as he took it, then slowly passed his tiny hand across the surface of
the water. She shook her head. 'You should not make those gestures, my friend,' she said
seriously. 'If you were seen by the wrong man, you would be flogged.'

'I've been flogged before. Did I show you my scars?'

'Many times.'

'Then I shall not concern myself with fears of the lash," he said, passing his hand once more over
the drink. 'To the long-dead King over the water,' he said, lifting the goblet to his lips. A
sleek black hound padded into sight. Heavy of shoulder, slim of flanks, she was a hare and rabbit
hound, and her speed was legendary. Highland hunting hounds were bred for strength, stamina and
obedience. But most of all they had to be fast. None was swifter than Sigarni's hound. Ballistar
laid down his empty goblet and called to her. 'Here, Lady!' Her head came up and she loped to him,
pushing her long muzzle into his beard, licking at his cheek. 'Women find me irresistible,' he
said, as he stroked the hound's ears.

'I can see why,' Sigarni told him. 'You have a gentle touch.'