"David Gemmell - Knights Of Dark Renown" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

тАШDear Gods!тАЩ whispered Patricaeus. тАШWhat have you done?тАЩ Lug looked down; his chest
was scored in four shallow cuts which had bled profusely, drenching the sheet below the
blanket. When Patricaeus pulled the bedding aside, the boyтАЩs legs were covered in dried
mud.
тАШExplain this, Lug. Where did you go while I was sleeping?тАЩ
тАШI donтАЩt know,тАЩ said Lug. тАШI donтАЩt know anything. I want my mother! Please?тАЩ
The old man sat beside the weeping boy and placed his arms around him.
тАШI am sorry, Lug. Truly.тАЩ
CHAPTER ONE

The rider paused at the crest of the pass, the wind swirling about him and screeching
through the mountain-tops. Far below him the lands of the Gabala stretched green and
verdant, ribbon streams and shimmering rivers, hills and vales, forests and woods - all as
he remembered, echoing his dreams, calling for his return.
тАШHome, Kuan,тАЩ he whispered, but his words were whipped away by the wind and the tall
grey stallion did not hear him. Touching his heels to the horseтАЩs side, the rider leaned
back in the saddle as his mount began the long descent. The wind dropped as they neared
the deserted Border fort, its gates of oak and bronze hanging on broken hinges. The
Gabala Eagle had been hacked from them - only the edge of a wing-tip left on the rotting
wood, and this covered by a brown and green patina that all but merged it with the
timber.
The rider dismounted here. He was a tall man wearing a long hooded cloak, a heavy scarf
wound about his face and holding the hood in place. He led the stallion into the derelict
fort and halted before the statue of Manannan. The left arm was broken, and lying on the
cobbles. Someone had taken an axe or a hammer to the face and the chin was smashed,
the nose split.
тАШHow soon they forget,тАЩ said the newcomer. Hearing his voice the stallion moved
forward, nuzzling at his back. He turned, removed his thick woollen gloves and stroked
the beastтАЩs neck. It was warmer here and he unwound the scarf, draping it over the
pommel of his saddle. As he pushed back the hood, sunlight flashed from the silver helm
he wore.
тАШLet us find you a drink, Kuan,тАЩ he said, moving to the walled well at the centre of the
courtyard. The bucket was warped byтАЩ the sun, gaping cracks showing beneath the iron
rings. The rope was tinder-dry, but still usable if handled with care. He searched the
deserted outbuildings and returned with a clay jug and a deep plate, then stood the jug in
the bucket before lowering both into the well. When he carefully drew the bucket up,
water was gushing from the cracks, but the jug was full and he lifted it clear and drank
deeply. Placing the plate on the cobbles, he filled it. The stallion dropped its head and
drank. The rider loosened the saddle girth and poured more water into the plate, then
climbed the rampart steps and sat in the sunshine.
This was the end of empire, he knew. Not the blood-drenched battlegrounds, the
screaming hordes, the discordant clash of steel on steel. Just the dust blowing across .the
cobbles, limbless statues, warped buckets and the silence of the grave.
тАШYou would have hated this, Samildanach,тАЩ he said. тАШThis would have broken your heart.тАЩ
He searched inside himself for any grief over the Fall of the Gabala. But there was no
room ... all his grief was for himself as he gazed down at his statue.
Manannan, Knight of the Gabala. One of the Nine. Greater than princes, more than men.
He delved into his hip-pouch, pulling clear a silvered mirror which he held up before his
face.
The Once-Knight looked into his own deep blue eyes, then at the square face and the