"Legacy Of Gird - 01 - Surrender None" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

swing a bigger scythe than this one. Like his father, whose sweeping strokes led
the reapers each year. Like his brother Arin, who had just grown out of this
scythe. He grunted at himself, and let the long blade down. Surely he could find
a way to make this work better.
By nightfall, with all his blisters, he had begun to mow a level swathe. HeТd
changed the handles slightly, learned to get his hip into the swing, learned to
take steps just the right length to compensate for the bladeТs arc. The next
day, he spent on the same patch of meadow. Now that he had the knack of it, he
was half-hoping the steward would not come. He would grow up a farmer like his
father, leading the reapers in the field, guiding his own oxen, growing even
better fruitЕ
It was the next day that the steward came at dusk, when his father had come in
from the fields, and Gird had begun to feel himself out of disgrace as far as
the family went. The children were sent to the barton out back, while the
steward talked, and his father (he was sure) listened. He wanted to creep into
the cowbyre and hear for himself, but Arin barred the way. He had to wait until
his father called him in.
There in the candlelight, his fatherТs face looked older, tireder. His mother
sat stiffly, lips pressed together, behind her loom. The steward smiled at him.
УGird, the sergeant suggested that you were a likely lad to train for soldier:
strong and brave, and in need of discipline. Your father will let you choose for
yourself. If you agree, you will spend one day of ten with the soldiers this
year, and from Midwinter to Midwinter next, two days of ten. ItТs not soldiering
at first, IТll be honest with you: youТll work in the barracks just as youТd
work here. But your fatherТd be paid the worth of your work, a copper crab more
than for fieldwork. And the following year, youТd be a recruit, learning
warcraft, and your father will get both coppers and a dole off his fee. ТTwould
help your family, in hard times, but your father says you must do as you wish.Ф
It was frightening to see his parents so still, so clearly frightened
themselves. He had never really understood them before, he felt. Behind him, in
the doorway, Arin and the others crowded; he could hear their noisy breathing.
Could soldiering be so bad as they thought? All his life heТd seen the guardsmen
strolling the village lane, admired the glitter of their buckles, the jingle of
their harness. HeТd been too young to fear the ordersticks, the clubsЕ heТd had
strong hands rumpling his hair, when he crowded near with the other boys, heТd
had a smile from the sergeant himself. And the soldiers fought off brigands, and
hunted wolves and folokai; he remembered only last winter, cheering in the snow
with the others as they carried back the dead folokai tied to poles. One of them
had been hurt, his blood staining the orange tunic he wore, but the world was
hard, and there were many ways to be hurt.
He wanted to stand on one leg and think about it, but there stood the steward,
peering at him in the dimness with eyes that seemed to see clear into his heart.
HeТd never spoken to a lord before, exactly. Was the steward a lord? Close
enough.
УIt would not be a binding oath,Ф the steward said, a little impatiently. Gird
knew that tone; his father had it when he asked who had left the barton wicket
open. It meant a quick answer, or trouble. УIf you did not like it, you could
quit before you started the real trainingЕФ
Gird ducked his head, and then looked up at the steward. From one corner of his
vision he could see his fatherТs rigid face, but he ignored it.