"David Gemmell - Winter Warriors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

The young man took a deep, slow breath. 'This is wrong, sir.'

'Nonsense. Look at me. What do you see?'

Dagorian stared at the white-haired general. Leathered by desert sun and winter winds, the White
Wolf's face was seamed and wrinkled. Beneath bristling white brows his eyes were pale and bright -
eyes that had seen the fall of empires, and the scattering of armies. 'I see the greatest general
who ever lived,' said the younger man.

Banelion smiled. He was genuinely touched by the officer's affection, and thought momentarily of
the

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boy's father. The two were so unalike. Catoris had been a cold, hard man, ambitious and deadly.
His son was infinitely more likeable, loyal and steadfast. The only virtue he shared with his
father was courage. 'Ah, Dagorian, what you should see is a man two years past seventy. But you
are looking at what was, boy. Not what is. I will be honest with you, I am disappointed. Even so I
do not believe the king is making a mistake. Like me the soldiers who first marched against the
Ventrian Empire are growing old now. Eighteen hundred men over fifty. Two hundred of those will
not even see sixty again. The king is only thirty-five, and he wants to cross the Great River and
conquer Cadia. All reports suggest that such a war will last five years or more. The army will
have to cross deserts and mountains, wade rivers thick with crocodiles, hack their way through
jungles. Young men will be needed for such an enterprise. And some of the older men are yearning
for home.'

Dagorian removed his black and gold helm, and absently brushed his hand over the white horsehair
plume. 'I don't doubt you are right about the older men, sir. But not you. Without you some of the
battles would have been . . .' The White Wolf raised his finger to his lips, the movement sharp
and swift.

'All my battles have been fought. Now I will go home and enjoy my retirement. I will breed horses,
and watch the sun rise over the mountains. And I will wait for news of the king's victories, and I
will celebrate them quietly in my home. I have served Skanda, as I served his father. Faithfully
and well, and to the best of my considerable abilities. Now I need a little fresh air. Walk with
me in the garden.'

Swinging a sheepskin cloak around his shoulders

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Banelion pushed open the doors and strode through to the snow-covered garden. The paved path could
no longer be seen, but the statues that lined it pointed the way. Crunching the snow underfoot the
two men walked out past the frozen fountain. The statues were all of Ventrian warriors, standing
like sentries, spears pointed towards the sky. The older man took Dagorian's arm and leaned in
close. 'It is time for you to learn to curb your tongue, young man,' he said, keeping his voice
low. 'Every whisper spoken inside the palace is reported to the king and his new advisers. The
walls are hollow, and listeners write down every sentence. You understand?'