"Quickening - 01 - Myrren's Gift" - читать интересную книгу автора (McIntosh Fiona)

Men were bowing their heads as the stretcher passed by. Fergys wished he could somehow convey his thanks to each. The Legion produced exceptional soldiers, loyal to a man to his command. He spared an anxious thought for how they would accept the new General, yearned for a last opportunity to beg their tolerance. УGive the boy a chance.Ф he would beseech. УHe will be all that I am and better still.Ф And he hoped it would be true.

He thought of the youngster. Serious and a firm follower of tradition. Tarred by the same brush, as they say, especially in looks. They were plain, stocky, fearless men, the Thirsks, and this boy was already shaping up as a leader. The Morgravian Legion followed a curious tradition of handing down leadership from father to son. Fergys wondered if it could last. The lad was so young. Would he have time to sire his own heir to continue the Thirsk tradition or would a new family vie for the right to lead the army?

Thirsks had led the Legion through two centuries now. It was an extraordinary history for one family that bred sons with warrior capabilities, tempered with intelligence.

The dying manТs bearers were nearing the tent that he knew would be his final resting place. Once he was laid down he would have to concentrate on his King for as long as his heart held out. He wanted time to think about his beautiful wife. Helyna. of whom so much lived on in their son. Not her looks, mind. Those exquisite features belonged to their daughter alone. Fergys grimaced, not from pain so much as grief. His daughter was so youngЕtoo young to lose both parents.

How would his family manage? Money was no problem. They were the wealthiest of all the nobility, perhaps barring the Donals of Felrawthy. He would have to rely on Magnus. Knew he could. What his family needed now was time. Time to grow into their new lives. Peace must be achieved with Briavel until the young Thirsk was ready to lead into battle. That peaceful time would have to be bought and he hoped his life would suffice as raw currency.

They laid him down. The King had insisted he be settled in the royal tent. Physicians hurried to ThirskТs side. He ignored their probing, knowing it would ultimately be followed by a shaking of heads and grave glances. Fergys closed his eyes to the sudden frenetic activity and returned to his ponderings.

The old hate. It all seemed so pointless now. Valor of Briavel was a good King. He had a daughter. Little chance now of a son. Valor had shown no inclination to remarry after the death of his wife; it was rumored that theirs had been a love gifted from Shar. And he was probably too old now. at seventy, to bother himself with trying to sire a male heir. He too needed peace for BriavelТs Princess to grow up and grow into her role. The wars had been a tradition in a sense. Their forefathers had fought each other when they were little more than feuding families. Initially it had been a case of maintaining the balance of power between two small factions suspicious of one another. But when the two strongest families established their own realms, and kingdoms were born, the battles were fought to increase power, gain more land, greater authority. Over the centuries, neither managed to claim domination over the region and so their animosity degenerated into squabbles over trading rights or merchant routesЧany petty excuse, in fact, until by the time Magnus and Valor had inherited their crowns, neither was sure exactly why the two realms hated one another so intently.

Fergys shook his head. If truth be known, he rather admired Valor, and lamented the fact that the two Kings could not be neighbors in spirit as well as location. United in friendship and mutual respect, the region would be rich beyond dreams and near-invincible to any enemy. Now he would never see that dream come to fruition. He sighed.

УTalk to me,Ф his King beseeched. voice leaden with guilt.

УSend the physics away. Magnus. We all know itТs done.Ф

The King bowed his head in sad acceptance and gave the order.

All except his friend had now been banished by Thirsk. No emotional farewells would he tolerate from his captains. He could bear neither their sympathy nor their despair. They had filed out in silence, stunned by the notion that their General might not even see this dayТs sun fully risen.

Thirsk asked for the tent flap to be left open so he could see across the moors to the smoke from the distant fires of the Briavellian camp, where soon the sounds of dying men and beasts would be heard again should the battle resume today. In his heart Thirsk knew the two armies were bleeding and wearied; all of the men were now keen to acknowledge the outcome of yet another battle between these ancient enemies and return to their towns and villages. Many would not be going home, of course, and their widows and mothers, sisters and betrothed were mostly from Briavel.

And yet, as Fergys Thirsk slipped further into deathТs cool embrace, most from his side knew it would be later argued in the taverns that it was the great realm of Morgravia that had suffered the loss on this occasion.

The General looked wearily back at his oldest and closest friend.

УItТs over for them.Ф King Magnus of Morgravia finally said.

Thirsk tried to nod. relieved that Magnus had navigated his way out of the shocked stupor; there were things to be said and little time. УBut Valor will try to fight on.Ф Fergys cautioned. УHe will want Briavel to salvage some face.Ф

The King sighed. УAnd do we allow him to?Ф

УYou always have in the past, your majesty. Pull back our men completely and let him have the news of my injury and subsequent passing.Ф his dying companion replied, shivering now from pain cutting through the earlier numbness. УIt will be a proud moment for them and then we can all go home.Ф he added, knowing full well he would go home shrouded in black linens and tied to his horse.

The battle was won. Morgravia had prevailed as it usually did under General Thirsk. It had not always been so. however. There were centuries previous when Briavel had triumphed. These nations had shared a long and colorful hate.

УI wonder why I give him quarterЧa weakness, do you think?Ф Magnus pondered.

Fergys wanted to tell his King that it was not weakness but compassion that saw todayТs Morgravia resist the temptation of out-and-out slaughter. That and the fact that Magnus had never had to watch his best friend die beforeЧsuddenly the battle had taken second place in the KingТs priorities. And if compassion was a weakness, then Fergys loved his King for the contradictions in his character that could see him willingly pass sentence of death on a Morgravian criminal while, on the battlefield, sparing the lives of his enemies. It was this enigmatic mix of impulsiveness and honor, stubbornness and flexibility that had drawn Fergys to Magnus from childhood.

Thirsk noticed his own breathing was becoming shallower. He had witnessed this many times previously on the battlefield as he held the hands of the dying and heard their last labored words. Now it was his turn. Death was beckoning but it would have to wait just a little while longer.

There was more to be said even though it hurt deeply to talk. УIf there is weakness in this, then it is shared equally among us all.Ф Fergys responded. УWithout it. Briavel and Morgravia would not enjoy this regular opportunity to send their young men thundering on fine steeds across the moors to kill each other.Ф

Magnus nodded. Fergys Thirsk never willingly went to battle; he cared too much for the sanctity of peace and the preservation of lives, particularly those of Morgravian men. But history attested to Fergys Thirsk being the most successful of the campaigners to lead Morgravia. He was legend amongst his men.