"Roland Green - Conan at the Demon's Gate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Roland)

did not suspect forgery, only the wits of whoever penned the command.

"As it is ordered, so it shall be done," I said. "But the wet ground is a fact

that all the generals of ten realms cannot alter. A barefoot Pict can skip

lightly where a booted and battle-ready soldier will sink."

"The orders do not say how the patrols shall be equipped," the man said. "Or how

far they shall go."

I must have gaped. A Black Dragon with his wits about him was a marvel, like a

two-headed calf, or a babe with one arm a bird's wing. The man replied with a

grin and a shrug.

"I have kin who fought the Picts when Conan the Great commanded on the border,"

he said. "Those kin told many tales around the fireside, and I have not
forgotten all I heard then."

"Nor have I forgotten what became of friends who sought dry ground and ran into

a Pictish ambush," I said. I added a few details, half-expecting the man to turn

pale and excuse himself. Since the wars of Conan's early reign, the Black

Dragons have mostly stayed close to the palace. Few of this man's apparent years

(ten less than my forty) were battle-seasoned.

Instead, he nodded. "I never thought my kin lied, but hearing and seeing are not

the same." He frowned. "The next fort is my last duty. If you have not led out

your men when I return, may I come with you?"

"If you are your own masterтАФ" I began.

"I am," he said.

I could hardly put into words my suspicion that he was a spy for one of rank,

perhaps even for one at Court. Nor in truth did I feel any great desire to do

so. I trusted my men (half Bossonians, half the best sort of Gunderman