"John Morressy - The game is a foot (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morressy John)

A cold breeze swept through the room and set the fire to fluttering. The door
crashed shut and a loud grating voice bellowed, "Food for me and my men, and
your best chamber, and be quick about it, innkeeper! I travel on the king's
business. I am Sir Buldram of the Hard Hand, famed throughout the land for my
hot temper."
The words had an immediate effect on the hearthside company. Rury muttered
under his breath and spat into the flames. The sleepers, now wide awake,
exchanged a dark glance; the man bared his teeth and growled indistinct but
unmistakably angry words.
Corgin backed into the room, bowing and babbling, "Yes, Sir Buldram. I'll
prepare your accommodations. Best chamber in the house. Right over the
kitchen. Always fragrant and warm. Sit right down and I'll bring stew for you
and your men. An honor and a privilege to serve you, Sir Buldram." He paused
to rub the tabletop clean with his apron.
"Bring your best wine, and bring it quickly! And if it is not to my taste,
I'll pour a hogshead of it down your throat, do you hear me?" the bellowing
voice came again, followed by heavy footsteps and the appearance of a huge
figure in red and black who strode to the hearth, turned his back to the fire,
folded his brawny arms, and glared upon the other guests.
Sir Buldram loomed a head over Kedrigern and extended a hand's-breadth wider
on either side. His scowling face was red, his beard and brows black, his head
close-cropped. He looked with contempt from one face to another, then said to
the older couple, "It's time for the likes of you to be in your beds. Be off.
I require your bench."
The man rose slowly and helped his wife to her feet. His voice shook as he
said, "It's fitting. You took our home and our land. Now you take our bench,
too."
"Be careful, grandfather. You speak to a servant of the king," said the
knight. He glowered down on the couple for a moment, then smiled -- an
unexpected and unpleasant spectacle -- and said, "I remember you. Yes, I
remember you well, old man. Kettry is your name. And your wife is named Hilla.
Rebellious types. Refused to pay the king's taxes."
"We had no money," said the woman.
"You had a house, crops, animals, furniture."
"And you took it all," said the man.
"Not half what you owed. But since you seem to have held back enough to
squander on an inn, I'll collect the balance when I depart, or take it out of
your hides."
Kedrigern had had enough of this. He had entered the inn intending to conserve
his magic, but Sir Buldram's manner was so intolerable, his voice so harsh,
his very presence so offensive that it could not be ignored. People like
Buldram, unless stopped in their tracks, only got worse.
He opted for a simple spell. Before Buldram's men joined the company, he
gestured toward the fire and whispered a phrase. The fire flared up and
billowed forth a roaring golden tongue. A great cloud of steam arose, and the
knight's cloak went up in flames. He gave a cry and began groping at his cloak
pin. Kedrigern jumped up, snatched a heavy salver from one of the tables, and
began to swat Buldram's back and buttocks vigorously, shouting, "Quick, lend a
hand! We must save him!"
Rury and Kettry rushed to beat at the flames with poker and shovel. Hilla