"Richard Paul Russo - The Dread And Fear of Kings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russo Richard Paul)

The Dread And Fear of Kings
by Richard Paul Russo



We enter the splendid cities at dawn. Always at dawn, when the rising sun lights up the
skyscrapers and towers with orange and gold flames like the fires that are to come.
Isengol was the first, many months ago; Kazakh-Ir is to be the nextтАФtomorrow morning.
It will not be the last.
We enter the splendid cities at dawn, and when we leave, they are no longer splendid at
all.



┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖┬╖



I am the First Minister's scribe. My name is unimportant, but my words carry the weight
of his station, his power. This manuscript, however, is not an official document. He has
charged me with the task of preparing an alternative account, one which will, at the very
least, question our objectives, perhaps even challenge the king's design. Doing so, we
both risk treason. We both risk execution.
Grave doubts have begun to plague the First Minister. He sleeps poorly, disturbed by
nightmares, disoriented by hallucinatory episodes that attack as he wanders the halls at
night, unable or unwilling to return to sleep. His stomach and bowels trouble him.
Yet this evening, as we prepared for tomorrow's incursion into Kazakh-Ir, he stood alert
and assured before the assembled host, the vast plain alight with a thousand campfires.
His breath was like plumed smoke in the icy air, but his voiceтАФstrong and confidentтАФ
issued forcefully from the towered loudspeakers and carried across the night to the
thousands of men and women standing before him, perhaps even to some of the residents
of Kazakh-Ir who might have been watching the fires from the upper levels of their
homes.
"Tomorrow we enter Kazakh-Ir. As you know, the citizens of Kazakh-Ir are renowned for
their stained glassтАФboth for the production of the glass itself, and for their design and
craftsmanship, especially the many majestic windows. The city is ours to take, and take it
we will. But tomorrow, we take it with as little violence, as little destruction as possible.
The king wants Kazakh-Ir's famous glass preservedтАФuntouched, unbroken. Particularly
the windows.
"So tomorrow, march with vigor, march with strength and purpose, but march with care."
He continued for two or three more minutes, now speaking more generally. Finally,
preparing to give way to the Second Minister, who would provide more specific
marching orders, he paused, slowly washing his gaze across the field. "Tomorrow тАж" he
said, "tomorrow, Kazakh-Ir will be ours."
He stepped back and turned away from the growing roars and cheers, his expression lost
and pained. I followed as he hurried toward his tent; he seemed unaware of his
surroundings, stumbling into one of the camp stewards, sloshing through a muddy creek
just two paces away from planks laid across the water, and tripping over a loader for a
rocket launcher. When he reached his tent, he pulled the front flap wide and stood for a
few moments in the opening, outlined by the phosphor lamp within. He slowly turned to