"R. Garcia y Robertson - Firebird" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robertson R Garcia Y)

and snare squirrels, stripping bark for their shoes and stealing honey from the bees. On May Day they
came singing, their arms full of flowers, celebrating the return of spring, slipping off in pairs to make love
upon the forest floorтАФwhile she watched, invisible and intrigued. In summer the forest rang with their
axesтАФthe nearest thing they had to weapons. It was a flogging offense for a serf to have a bow, or a
boar spear. Death to be caught with a sword.
But this stranger had a huge sword slung across his back, and his torn surcoat bore the embattled blue
bend of the KingтАЩs Horse Guards. His crested helm hung from his sad-die bow, alongside an ugly
saw-toothed war hammer. Hunched forward, he carried something heavy in the crook of his shield arm,
wrapped in silk embroidery, tucked against his armored breast. She stood stock still, letting him rattle
past, close enough to touch.

When he had gotten far enough ahead of her, she set off after him, slipping silently from tree to tree,
following the bird calls down the ridge onto the forest floor. Tiny red flecks of blood shone on green fern
fronds, marking his trail for her.

Now the breeze was full in her face, which she did not like. A leopard could come up behind her,
stalking her as easily as she trailed this knight. Worse yet, the breeze brought the foul scent of a
troll-bearтАЩs lair, faint but growing stronger. The rotting corpse smell of discarded carcasses, mixed with
the rank odor of the troll-bearтАЩs droppings, was unmistakable, like smelling a long dead lizard on a hot
day. Only the image of the knightтАЩs hurt face kept her going.

She nearly caught up with her knight beneath a cool coppice of oaks. Leaves rustled like water overhead
and the rattle of armor had ceasedтАФbut the smell of horse droppings, followed by a nervous whinny,
warned her she was getting too close. Sinking to all fours, she wriggled through the undergrowth, curious
to see why he had stopped. Had he smelled the troll-bear?

Her knight had dismounted. Kneeling in the bracken beside his horse, he attacked the ground with a big
saxe knife, digging a hole in the dark earth. She watched patiently. When he had dug down the length of
his arm, he sheathed the knife, and reached for an embroidered bundle lying beside him. Gently he
lowered the bundle into the hole. Whatever it was had to be something preciousтАФshe could tell by how
he handled it. A gold icon perhaps. Or a great crystal goblet. Or a dead baby.

He carefully covered over the hole, hiding his work with fallen leaves. Then he looked up, sensing he was
watched, staring straight at her. But she stayed still as a fawn, and the spell held. Drained by the simple
act of digging, he heaved himself onto his horse, no mean feat in full armor. Then he lurched off upwind,
headed for the troll-bearтАЩs lair. Unless she did something the troll-bear would savage both horse and
rider, cracking her knightтАЩs armor like a badger breaking open a snail.

When the carrion odor got unbearable, his horse stopped again, refusing to go on. She waited for her
knight to turn or dismount, but he stayed slumped in his saddle, eyes closed, his horse nervously cropping
the bracken. Warning calls died away and the woods grew still. A good sign. Either the troll-bear was
gorged senseless, or away from its den. Shrugging off her spell, she stepped out from between the trees,
slowly walking toward her knight. His horse saw her first, snorting and shying. Speaking softly, she
reached out and took the reins, тАЬHave no fear. I will take you to good grass and water.тАЭ

Her knight opened his eyes, which were blue and alert. He smiled at what he saw, saying, тАЬMon Dieu, I
am dead.тАЭ He did not look very dead, clinging stubbornly to his saddle. тАЬAnd here is an angel to take me
to Heaven.тАЭ

тАЬI am no angel,тАЭ she told him. She was a witch-child, willful, disobedient and hopelessly damned.