"Kim Hunter - [The Red Pavillions 01] - Knight's Dawn v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kim Hunter - [The Red Pavillions 01] - Knight's Dawn)

In most cases the hands were missing, though some fresh corpses were intact. The knight wanted to ask the hunter about this, but could not catch his breath enough to be able to hold a conversation.
After three hours of travelling, when the clouds were pink islands in the evening sky, the two men crested a ridge. The knight found himself looking down on an immense walled city with turrets and towers rising as thick as spears from an army of closely-packed warriors. Zamerkand.
There were flags and banners fluttering from every pinnacle. Dark, triangular windows peppered these spires and the wind blew through them and played melodies as if they were holes in a flute. Domes and cupolas crowned every other one of the tall columns, upon which the weak evening sunlight glittered with malevolent sheen.
The knightТs aerial view revealed that within this massive fortification of tall spiky buildings were several palaces, parks, gardens and courtyards. Fountains showered expansive lawns, around which were myrtle hedges, shrubberies and spinneys of conifers and deciduous trees. There were bright lakes and moats that flashed in the evening light. Moreover, a whole town existed within the city walls, with houses, cobbled streets, stalls and cattle pens.
Around the city were at least a hundred large tents Ч sandstone-red in colour.
An arched stone tunnel ran from one side of the city, across the open wooded countryside, its terminus out of sight beyond the hilly downs and woodland sweeps. The hunter explained that beneath this fortified tunnel lay a canal, straight as a silver arrow, which connected the city with the sea. Along this canal went trading barges, protected from attack by six-foot-thick walls, to meet with ships coming and going from a natural harbour on the Cerulean Sea. Trade with countries like Uan Muhuggiag, across the blue water, was brisk and profitable. It kept the citizens of Zamerkand reasonably wealthy, even during times of siege, when the countryside was ravaged by fighting.
СWhat a wonderful place,Т said the knight, pausing to drink in this magnificent scene. He looked around him, at the silhouettes of several gallows on the neighbouring ridges, and down before the city gates at what appeared at a distance to be severed heads stuck on sharpened stakes. СUnlike the countryside in which it resides.Т
СAh, as to that,Т said the hunter, having alighted, Сyou must understand that HoulluoH is dying. His grip on the world has slipped, and people are fearful. But all will be well soon. Things will right themselves once the new King Magus is in command.Т
СKing Magus?Т queried the knight.
The hunter placed a slim hand on the knightТs shoulder, which made the tall, dark stranger to this land feel uneasy.
СYou really are a newcomer, arenТt you? Guthrum, my friend, is a region of many wizards, the greatest of which is the King Magus. It is he who ensures that those who have the power of magic do not abuse it. He maintains a balance in the land, between good and evil, nature and supernature, magicians and ordinary folk.Т
СDo the wizards have blue eyes?Т asked the knight, hopefully, wondering if he had special powers.
СMy dear friend, no one in Guthrum has blue eyes.Т
The knight shrugged off the over-friendly hand from his shoulder.
СI am not your dear friend and would prefer it,Т he said, Сif you did not touch me in that manner.Т
There was a twinkling in the eyes of the other, who appeared to be smiling beneath the mask of blue calico. The knight knew he was being mocked, but could not do anything since he was m debt to this person.
СAs you wish, soldier, but you may be in need of a friend in these troubled times, here in Guthrum.Т
Soldier? That was as good a name as any. He had no other. Until his memory returned and he knew his identity he would call himself Soldier. It was a manly name, if nothing else.
СI can take care of myself,Т he said. СDonТt you worry about me.Т
Soldier stared down at the castle again. In the ruddy light of the dying sun, blood-scarlet in contrast to the whiteness of its midday face, he could see the red pavilions surrounding the city. He estimated that each pavilion would probably accommodate eighty to a hundred men and there were around a hundred pavilions. Ten thousand men. Each one of the pavilions had a pennon flying from the tip of the centre pole. These pennons bore a symbol but the distance was too great to identify them. When he asked the hunter he was told they were animal symbols Ч boars, eagles, falcons, cats, dogs Ч which denoted a company of men. Each pavilion was an entity unto itself and loyal in the first place to its commander. In battle it was the honour of the pavilion which was foremost in the minds of the soldiers. Men lived, fought and died for the pavilion and nothing was permitted to smirch its honour.
СWho are in the pavilions?Т he asked. СDo they guard some visiting royal or noble?Т
СMercenary soldiers,Т replied the hunter. СTroops from the land of Carthaga. Queen Vanda uses them to supplement her own army, when she is forced to wage war. Actually the Carthagans do the brunt of the fighting, while the Guthrumites usually end up supporting them. They have special qualities. They are brilliant warriors - brave, selfless, disciplined, dedicated to their duty Ч theyТve been in the pay of Guthrum for centuries now and are intensely loyal to us. Each soldier serves twenty years then returns to Carthaga. He can keep his whole extended family on his pay while he is a serving soldier and he receives a huge bonus for completing his time.Т
СWhy are they outside the city walls?Т
The hunter shrugged. СItТs the way it has always been. They never enter the city. Perhaps at one time they were not wholly trustworthy? It has become tradition now. The Guthrumite imperial guards are responsible for policing inside the city and for protecting the royal family. Carthagans protect the city from attack by outside hostile forces. If a larger army is required, then the citizens are armed and put in the field.Т
Soldier and the hunter then descended from the ridge, with the raven somewhere around in the gathering gloom. As they approached the city Soldier could see that the Carthagans were a squat, broad-shouldered people. They were swarthy, with flat faces and square frames. He and the hunter were not stopped or accosted while they passed through the red pavilions. Soldier assumed this was because they were only two and hardly a threat to an army of ten thousand tough, battle-hardened warriors.
Soldier decided it would be a different story when they reached the gates of the city, decorated with an avenue of heads on stakes.
They walked through this ghastly gauntlet. Matted hair hung over eye-sockets picked clean by the birds. Tongues, also attacked by birds and insects, hung from between swollen lips. Noses and cheeks were pitted by the weather and other agents of destruction.
СHelp me,Т whispered one particularly gruesome skull as Soldier passed it by. СHelp me, please!Т
Soldier turned and stared at the head, startled by the voice, only to see the stalking raven squatting inside, staring out through one of the empty eyesockets.
СFooled you,Т murmured the raven, in a satisfied tone. СFancy a bit of dinner? Plenty here.Т
With that the black bird left the back of the skull and began pecking at the rotting flesh.
СYouТre disgusting,Т said Soldier, curling his bottom lip.
The hunter said, СWere you speaking to me?Т
СNo, no,Т replied Soldier, wearily, just to the raven. You know? My madness? I am a lunatic after all.Т
СJust so,Т said the hunter. СGome, we must enter the city before the gates are locked for the night. Otherwise we might have to share the hospitality of one of these pavilions. Good fighting men the Carthagans might be, but they are also among the legions of the sweaty and unwashed. Their favourite fare is wild-oat porridge dried in the sun, cut into slabs and fried in goatТs lard. If you want to sleep with the stink of axle grease in your nostrils and breakfast on oats fried in animal fat, thatТs fine, but I rather look forward to a supper of fish and almonds, followed by a night in clean sheets bearing the fragrance of sandalwood.Т
СYou would,Т muttered Soldier, under his breath, Сbut I doubt IТll see better fare than fried porridge.Т


Chapter Two

There was a good deal of traffic going through and milling around the outer gate at this time of the evening. It was the hour of the day when those whose work took them beyond the cityТs walls came back inside for protection during the night hours. There were coaches and horsemen, peasants with ox-carts, dog-carts and hand-carts, and lone men and women on foot, some carrying the implements of their trade: scythes, axes, saws, hammers. Many of the vehicles were piled high with faggots and wood. Others with animal fodder or vegetables. The way through the gate was ankle-deep in dung and though Soldier attempted to tread carefully, his leggings were soiled almost to the knee shortly after joining the queue. The whole area stank and the flies were large and bothersome.
Soldier assumed that they would be stopped by the outer guards on the gate and questioned, but they hardly even glanced at the hunter and himself. Once inside the outer ward however, it was an entirely different matter. They were almost pounced upon by four burly men in uniform and led to a gatehouse tower. The hunter was taken inside, while Soldier was made to wait. It was growing dark now and the lamplighters were abroad. There were brands in iron cages on the walls round about and these were being torched. Soldier felt it must be a wealthy place to have street lighting and was duly impressed by all the activity.
The hunterТs mount stood tethered to a post nearby, looking mournfully at the door through which her master had vanished. On its back was the boar the hunter had shot with his crossbow earlier in the day. Soldier was now extremely hungry and the thought of the boar roasting on a spit played havoc with his imagination. He wondered if the hunter would invite him to a meal, now that they were inside the city.
СAll right,Т said a guard, coming out and beckoning to Soldier, Сin you go.Т
Soldier stepped inside the tower to find himself immediately in a room where a scrivener in a grey robe sat at a desk. The man was elderly, with a wall eye and a rather sour look on his face. He was also quite ugly, being bloated and puffy-looking, with a poor complexion and some kind of rash on his neck.
СName?Т said the man in a bored voice, his quill pen poised above a great leather-bound book.
Soldier looked about him, bewildered. There did not seem to be another door in the room, yet the hunter was nowhere to be seen.
СWhere did the hunter go?Т he asked.
The scrivener looked up with his one good eye, impatiently.
СStranger,Т he said, in a quiet patronising tone, СI would like to get this over with as quickly as possible, so that I can get back to my soup, which is cooling on the table by the window. Soup is not my favourite fare, but it is one of the only meals I can digest in comfort these days, since all my teeth are gone and my gums are somewhat diseased. If you do not reply within three seconds, I shall have you thrown outside the city walls where you will spend the night Ч or not Ч depending on how soon the wolves get to you, most of whom, I am jealous to be so informed, still retain a full set of fangs.Т