"Christopher Stasheff - Warlocks Heirs 01 - M'Lady Witch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stasheff Christopher)

and jibing. She had never truly denied it, only joked with Father that he was too intent on duty, to the point of being dull and boring. Her sallies
always resulted in his giving a ball, and spending half the evening dancing with her, jesting and chatting and listening to her, in a strenuous attempt
to prove he could be exciting and romantic still.


He had never done very well at it, Alain thought. He had heard that his father had been handsome and gallant in his youth, and the son could
certainly believe it when he looked at the sire-but he noticed that no one had ever said his father was dashing or romantic, and he could easily
believe that Tuan had never been so. Always solidly dependable, always serious and devoted, but never much fun.


Nor was his son, Alain reflected-and never would be, in all probability. Worse, he didn't even have the advantage of being handsome.


But he could be gallant. Iron resolve hardened within him; he would treat Cordelia in the future as though she were a goddess; he would bow to her,
he would speak her fair, he would shower compliments upon her. He would even send word ahead.


A shout broke the air behind him, inarticulate, angered. "Highness!" Sir Devon snapped.


Alain looked up, startled, and turned around, to see Geoffrey Gallowglass pounding after them down the road, cloak flying behind him in the wind.
Alain turned his horse, a glad cry of welcome on his lips, but Geoffrey was roaring, "Caitiff! Hound and swine!"


"How dare you speak thus to our Prince!" Sir Devon bellowed back at him, and the other five young knights took place behind him, forming a living
wall between Alain and Geoffrey.


Suddenly, Alain remembered that Geoffrey was the brother of the lady who had so lately scorned him, and that in his hurt, he might have spoken
more harshly to her than he had intended.


Geoffrey crashed in between Sir Devon and Sir Langley, throwing his weight against Sir Devon in a bodyblock. Horse and rider shuddered; the
others were knocked aside, and the horse stumbled.


With an inarticulate roar, Geoffrey whirled to chop down with his sword at Sir Langley, who was just recovering his balance from the unexpected
shock. He looked up, appalled, then brought up his sword barely in time to parry. Then Geoffrey whirled his sword down to slam against the
knight's shield. The strength of his blow knocked the blade back against its owner, slashing Sir Langley's forehead. He fell, senseless.


Then Geoffrey was beyond the group of knights again, turning and halting his horse, glaring at them, eyes narrowing. They shouted and spurred
their horses-but two of the stallions collided with each other, and the third knight's sword suddenly wrenched itself from his grasp, then rapped him
sharply on the head with its hilt. He slumped in the saddle, and his horse slowed, feeling the loosening of the reins. He fell, limp as a sack of meal.
The horse, well trained, stepped over him to shield him with its body.


The other two young knights had steadied their horses and regained control-but one's shield suddenly yanked his arm up high, then knocked him on
the head. He fell.