"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Bifrost 01 - Godslayer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

Silme stood. "We both know none of Ashemir's knights can defeat you. Halfrija knows it, too."



As anger dispersed, fatigue crowded Bramin. Though Silme's explanation seemed implausible, his desire
for the princess allowed him to believe. "Then why.. .?"



Silme interrupted."Because she's insecure. She needs to justify your appearance by displaying your
talents in public. Do you find Halfrija's hand more valuable than the life of a soldier?"



Realization drove Bramin's voice to a whisper."Far more." He sprawled across the pallet, drained of all
emotion except the early, fine stirrings of hope. As Silme crept back to the ladder, sleep overtook him.
Yet, despite his half sister's reassurances, the memory of Halfrija's fleeting sneer haunted Bramin's
dreams.



Rest restored the vitality drained by Bramin's battle with the giant. As he dressed in a simple tunic and
breeks, many thoughts plagued him. As skilled with a sword as with magic, Bramin knew from his one
month a year at home that no warrior of Forste-Mar could best him. Unless some strange and highly
capable swordsman had joined them in the past year, he could not be defeated.



Bramin fastened his sword belt and drew the blade from its leather hip scabbard. He smiled as the
radiance of his restored life aura bounced blue highlights from the steel. He felt strong, mentally and
physically. Striding from his mother's cottage, he let the door swing shut behind him and trotted through
the streets to the cleared patch of castle grounds. Guards passed cautiously about him, attentive to their
duties. With magically enhanced hearing, Bramin invaded their conversations, but the sentries seemed as
curious about the princess' champion as he himself.



Bramin executed an elegant series of sword feints. The hilt felt comfortable in his grip, metal wrapped
with rough leather which would not slip from his sweat-slicked palm. He stopped, not wishing to tire
himself before the match. His love for Princess Halfrija had begun as a childhood crush. He sent flowers
and trinkets. Though she acknowledged none of them and regarded him with the same scorn as the other
citizens of Forste-Mar, her reluctance only strengthened his passion. During his vacations from the
School of Dragonrank, he wooed her. Soon, his love became an all-encompassing desire.



The sun shouldered over the horizon. Citizens drifted toward the southern side of the castle grounds