"John Maddox Roberts - Stormlands 04 - Steel Kings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts John Maddox)

ISBN: 0-812-51831-4

First edition: March 1993

Printed in the United States of America

0987654321
BOOK ONE
Deathmoon
ONE
He had no idea what the village's name might be, and at the moment he did not greatly care. He had been
traveling a long time and he was weary. More importantly, his cabo was just as tired, and a plainsman
always looked after his mount's needs before his own. He was impatient to push on, but he had to stop
to rest himself and his animal. The village looked to be as good a place as any.

The rider was a young man with ice-blue eyes above broad cheekbones. His copper-colored hair was
slashed off at shoulder length. He had discarded the heavy skin clothing of his native plains in favor of
light garments made of thin, colorful cloth, for he had been traveling in warm lands for the last month.

The cabo stamped its small hoofs into the hard-packed dirt of the road, groaning and snorting as he
patted its neck. There was a strong scent of water in the air and he knew they must be near a river. He
sat in his saddle and looked down the slope to where the road ended at the village gate. The village was
surrounded by a log palisade and he could see

4 John Maddox Roberts
little more than that. It was still early morning and a dense fog lay over everything, obscuring his view
beyond the palisade. The gate was open and someone stood beside it.

"I know, swift one," he said to the beast. "You would rather be out on the great grasslands, where you
can run all day. But there is something important we must do, so you and I shall put up with these
overgrown wetlands for a while longer. Come on, we'll go rest in that place." He nudged the cabo's ribs
and it began to amble downhill toward the village.

At least the beast understood his native tongue. The people of the lands he had been traversing spoke a
dialect of Northern that at first he could understand only if they spoke slowly and simply. He had grown
used to its slurred vowels and leisurely cadences in time, but he was not comfortable speaking it.

A few peasants worked in the fields through which he rode, and as he passed they looked up from their
hoeing and digging to blink at the handsome young mounted warrior who clearly was not from these
parts. He carried a long lance before him and wore a sword at his belt. Tucked into the top of one high,
soft boot was a knife, and a cased bow and arrows hung at his saddle. He rode with such easy grace that
he seemed to be one with his mount.

The man who lounged by the gate studied the rider as he came closer; he wore a tunic, trousers and
slippers, and a bronze medallion hung on a chain around his neck. He did not rise from his bench when
the cabo stopped in front of nun.

"You're a strange sight to see so early in the day," the man said. "Who are you?"