"Robin McKinley - The Outlaws of Sherwood" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinley Robin)

a half-dozen arrows Sir Richard had paid handsomely for, so handsomely that
Robin had let himself keep the last, the odd seventh, in the wistful hope that so
excellent an arrow might have an effect on his marksmanship. When he raised the
bow, for a moment his eyes clouded over, and he could not see the tree he was
aiming for; and he wondered, as his arrow quivered against the string, if he would
ever shoot another after Tom and his lads got through with him.
He murmured a few words under his breatheтАФa prayer, perhaps, or a farewell to
Marian; or an apology to his fatherтАФand loosed his last arrow.
Another vagrant breeze arose from nowhere, and kissed his arrow in its flight;
Robin felt it brush his cheek as well. And the arrow, perhaps, wavered.
And struck true, dead center, in the burl.
A barely audible gasp rose behind him: a hissing of breath through shut teeth.
Robin stared at his arrow, its shaft still vibrating, and for a second time his vision
briefly clouded. He blinked, and heard footsteps behind him, and stiffened to
prevent himself from cringing away from what he felt sure would be a heavy hand on
his shoulder, preliminary to the beating he would still receive, from many heavy
hands, despite his lucky shooting.
But Tom strode straight by him, toward the tree, and after a moment Robin
followed him without looking around.
There was no doubt that RobinтАЩs arrow was beautifully centered, and that neither
of TomтАЩs better shots came near it. Tom growled something, jerked the perfect
arrow out of the tree, and trod on it. Robin heard the shaft break, but said nothing,
thinking of his ribs, and of the sound of approaching soft footsteps behind him. But
Tom still made no move toward him. He pulled his own arrows out of the tree and
then stepped aside, glaring; and Robin, in a daze, stepped forward, retrieved his two
remaining arrows, and restored them carefully to his quiver. He would check them
later. After a moment he also stooped and hastily picked up the splintered halves of
the broken arrow; and these he thrust under his belt.
Still no one said anything, and he moved cautiously away, toward the path,
toward his day at Nottingham Fair, his day with Marian. He had to turn his back on
Tom to do this, and he walked jerkily, as a man passes a growling mastiff which he
knows would be happy to tear his arm off if he makes a false move; and he had
regained the path and turned down it, carefully not looking back, when there was a
strangled shout behind him.
тАЬAnd do you think then, that you shall go unhindered to Nottingham Fair, and
boast to your friends in the dirt that you did best Tom Moody at archery?тАЭ
Robin, too conscious of what was happening off to one side, was not conscious
enough of what lay under his feet on this rough woods path; and he stumbled, ever
so slightly, and his head nodded forward to save his balance. And an arrow whistled
past his ear.
It whistled so nearly that it creased the nape of his neck, gently, and the narrow
place where it rubbed was red and painful for many days. Fear jumped back into
RobinтАЩs throat and stopped his breathing, and his bowels turned to water: He means
to kill me, he thought, and he turned like a creature at bay, crouching against the
possibility of a further shaft from his enemy, groping over his shoulder for his bow,
which he had providentially not unstrung. He notched an arrow and let fly back at the
little group around the gnarled oak tree.
He aimed for Tom MoodyтАЩs right leg. He had aimed neither well nor carefully,
and he took no thought for the consequences, should he succeed at so tricky a
shotтАФor should he fail. But he was nonetheless appalled as he saw the feathered