"Brotherhood Of The Sword - 04 - A Dark Champion" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacGregor Kinley)

ever heard of the Lady of Love, milord?"
"Nay," Stryder answered.
"I have," Christian said as he took a seat at the desk and poured himself a cup
of ale. "She's just your type of lady, Stryder. A troubadour of great renown,
she despises knights and writes only of courtly love and how needed it is in
this day and age of great violence."
Stryder curled his lips at that. If there was one thing he hated above all, it
was those who purveyed the virtues of courtly love. That so-called noble
sentiment had cost more lives and strife than any sword ever had. "A pox to all
of her ilk."
"Nay, milord," Druce said, his face dreamy. "She is more beautiful than Venus
and holds the voice of the sweetest lark. Surely the lady has no equal. You
should listen to her as she tells how the world could be if only we strove for
peace with the same passion we use to pursue war."
Stryder exchanged a knowing look with Christian. "You are young, Druce. One day
you will realize that all women are the same. They want nothing more than a man
to care for them so that they can pester and pick until a man is nigh mad with
their nagging. They have but one use."
"And that is, milord?" Druce asked.
Christian's eyes danced with merriment. "That you will soon discover on your
own, boy. But for now you are too young for it."
Druce's mouth formed a small O that said the boy already had an inkling of it as
he gathered Stryder's mail pieces.
Stryder tossed his squire a bag of coins. "Drop the armor off with the armorer
to be polished, and then take the rest of the day and enjoy it."
Druce beamed. Thanking him, he dashed off with the mail armor draped over his
shoulder and the money cradled carefully in his hand.
"You spoil him," Christian said.
Stryder shrugged. "Children should be spoiled. Would that we had known such at
his age."
Christian's gaze turned haunted at that and Stryder wondered if his own eyes
showed the scars of his past so plainly.
Like him, Christian had been raised with the single principle of "spare the rod,
spoil the child."
Stryder could fell a full-grown man with a single blow. The idea of striking
someone so much smaller than he sat ill in his gullet. With one reckless strike,
he could kill the boy. Indeed, Stryder's own lord had broken his jaw when he was
Druce's age for nothing more than dropping the man's sword.
It was a chance he'd never take. He'd sooner cut off his arm than ever prey on
someone weaker than he.
Stryder reached for a towel at the same time his tent flap was slung backward.
He half expected to see a maid coming through it to offer herself to him and was
a bit surprised to find his younger brother there, since Kit held no love of
battle and often refused to come near Stryder's tent.
Like Druce before him, Kit paid no heed to Christian in the corner.
Dressed in a garish red and orange combination, Kit held a large basket in his
hands that was overfilled with letters and various pieces of ladies' garb.
"What is this?" Stryder asked, as Kit set the whole of it at his feet.
Kit swept his orange hat from his head and wiped his sweaty brow with his arm.
"Tokens from your admirers. I have been instructed to give you all of these