"Tamora Pierce - Protector Of The Small 4 - Lady Knight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pierce Tamora)

reddish hide flecked with white, and red-brown stockings, face, mane and tail. Eight years with Kel had
cured him of his tendency to attack others. It was only when they got held up and he was bored that Kel
might catch him eyeing Neal, his favourite target. When that happened, Kel excused herself and rode
ahead to join Lord Raoul or Lady Alanna, the King's Champion and the realm's other female knight.
To everyone's relief, the countryside offered dry quarters for the military. War parties rode north so
regularly that local farmers made extra money by letting soldiers bed down in their barns. Officers and
knights slept at Crown wayhouses. These large inns provided snug quarters and plentiful food, doubly
welcome after a day in the cold and wet. Often villages encircled the wayhouses, offering shops and
more places to find shelter for the night.
Each day as she walked into the comfort of a wayhouse, Kel hoped the Stormwings that flew above
the army found only cold, damp perches for the night. She wished them ice-covered wings and frostbite
in their human flesh. Each morning she saw the flash of their steel feathers and heard their jeering calls as
the army marched. And each morning their numbers were as great as they'd been the day before.
Kel had been on the road ten days when they stopped in Queensgrace for the night. The Jug and Fire
was the largest of three wayhouses there, so large that even first-year knights had rooms to themselves.
By the time Kel got to her room after tending her mounts, a hot bath awaited her. She soaked until the
mud and ice were out of her pores, then dried herself, dressed in clean clothes, and went down to eat
with her friends. Except for the conversation of the villagers, who had come to see the nobles, the only
sounds were the clatter of cutlery and occasional quiet requests for butter, salt, or the refill of a tankard.
Kel finished and thrust her plate back with a grateful sigh. A bowl of winter fruit sat on the table she
shared with Neal and her year-mates, reminding her of her horses. They deserved a treat after that day's
work. She scooped up two apples and excused herself.
A shortcut through the kitchens meant she was outside for only a couple of yards rather than the width
of the large courtyard. It also meant she entered the stable unnoticed, through a side door rather than the
main entrance.
The long building lay in shadow, the lanterns being lit only around the front entrance. The horses
dozed, glad to be under shelter. Kel was letting her eyes adjust to what light there was when she heard
the hard whump! of leather on flesh, and a child's yell.
"I tol' ye about foolin' around the horses when there's work to be done," a man snarled. He stood two
rows of stalls over from Kel, his back to her. He raised his right hand; a leather strap dangled from his
fist. "You're supposed to be in that kitchen washin' up, you thankless rat-turd!" Down plunged the hand;
again, the sound of a blow as it struck, and a yelp.
Kel strode quickly but silently across the distance between her and the man. The next time he drew his
arm back, she seized it in one iron-fingered hand, digging her nails deep into the tender flesh between the
bones of his wrist.
"You dare - " the innkeeper growled, turning to look at her. He was bigger than Kel, unshaven and
slope-shouldered. His muscle came from hoisting kegs and beating servants, not from eight years of
combat training. His eyes roved from Kel's set face to her personal badge, a grey owl on a blue field for
House Mindelan, and below it, Kel's own ornament of crossed glaives in cream lined with gold. There
were two stripes of colour for the border, the inner ring cream, the outer blue. They meant she was a
distaff, or female, knight.
The innkeeper knew who she was. That information spread quickly everywhere Kel went. "This's no
business of yours; lady," he said, trying to yank free of her. "Look, he's always ditchin' chores, never
minds his work. Likely he's out here to steal. Leave me deal with him."
The boy, who sat huddled in a corner of the empty stall, leaped up and spat at the innkeeper's feet. He
then bolted across the aisle and into the next stall.
"No!" shouted Kel, but it was too late. The boy slipped in manure and skidded to a halt under
Peachblossom's indignant nose. "Peachblossom, leave him be! Boy, he's mean, get out now!" While the
gelding had learned to live near others like a civilized creature, he could not be approached by just
anyone.