"SM Stirling - Change 02 - Scourge of God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stirling S. M)

Awareness returned to RudiТs blue-green eyes. УWeТd best be going,Ф he said hoarsely. УItТs not a spot that seems pleasant to linger in, so.Ф
а
Rudi and his companions made camp ten miles southward, in a place where two brick walls of a farmhouse burned out a generation ago still made a corner. That let them have a small sheltered fire that couldnТt be seen at a distance; theyТd sleep during the day and continue by night. TheyТd managed to get a fair amount of their gear out of Boise, if not the big Conestoga wagon theyТd been carrying it all in. Ignatius tended a pot of stew, salt pork with dried vegetables and beans; the dark close-coupled priest was the best camp cook they had. Horses whickered in the darkness from the picket line, and their smell added to the strong scents of sage and sweat and oil and metal and burning greasewood.
Rudi finished grinding a nick out of the edge of his sword, ran a swatch of oily sheepskin over the blade, sheathed it and laid the scabbard aside wrapped in the broad belt that also held his dirk. His stomach twisted in hunger at the savory smell from the cookfire, but he winced a little as he accepted a bowl and some biscuits and took his first sip.
The swelling bruises on his throat made swallowing painful; they madebreathing a matter of care, though thank Her of the Healing Hand that they hadnТt had to insert a tube or anything of that sort. He ate cautiously, a little at a time. That was one of a symphony of pains and aches, from minor cuts to bone bruises. At that, heТd been lucky and gods-favored. The memory of those troll-strong dead hands on his throat still made an unpleasant sensation crawl over his scrotum and up his belly. It had beenseconds away from being too late. If he hadnТt decided to put on the coif before the fight . . .
Remembering Someone looking through KuttnerТs eyes into his was worse yet.
УMy throatТs raw,Ф he said, and hid a slight shudder. He turned to Odard instead of dwelling on the eerie otherness of what had happened:
УI didnТt see your man Alex,Ф he croaked.
I can talk. As long as IТm careful.
The young BaronТs eyes usually held a cool reserve. There was no mistaking what was in them now.
And if Alex could see them, heТd not stop rinning until he hit salt water, and then only so he could swim,Rudi thought.
УI didnТt either, and thatТs why heТs not dead,Ф Odard said grimly. УAnd if I had him back in the castle at Gervais . . . I do believe IТd have him flogged to death. Usually having the High Justice is a bit of a bore, but there are times when it can bevery satisfying.Ф
Mathilda had mopped her emptied bowl with a piece of the bannock and was lying with her head on a saddle, apparently reveling in having her war harness off for the first time in three days. She was the same age as Rudi, but right now you could see how the strong bones of her face would look when she aged, and locks of her reddish brown hair clung to her forehead.
Rudi suppressed an impulse to smooth them back, then decided not to bother and did it. She smiled at him; it died away as she spoke:
УHe laid Odard out with a crossbow butt and held me at the point of the bolt while he surrendered us to the Cutters.Ф
Rudi shaped a silent whistle. УThatis a surprise. IТd have said he was a brave manЧand loyal to the House of Liu, too.Ф
OdardТs hand closed reflexively on the hilt of the sword across his lap; he was a little less than a year younger than Rudi, and several inches shorter, with a handsome high-cheeked, snub-nosed face, raven-black hair and slanted blue eyes the brighter for the natural olive-umber hue of his skin. His voice recovered a little of his usual ironic detachment as he went on:
УHe is. Loyal, that is. Unfortunately heТs loyal to my mother . . . the Dowager Baroness. AndsheТs been in contact with the Church Universal and Triumphant. Apparently she told him . . . passwords, codes . . . to use with them if he thought he had to.Ф
He looked away slowly. УItold her to stop it. I thought sheТd listened. Apparently she didnТt, even though IТm of age and Baron now. IТm going to have a little talk with her when we get back.Ф
УMymother is going to have a little talk with her,Ф Mathilda said. УSovereigns before vassals, Odard.Ф
The young nobleman looked alarmed; however furious he was with her, Lady Mary Liuwas his mother. SheТd conspired with foreigners against the Crown PrincessЧher man had pointed a crossbow at the Crown PrincessЧand they both knew that meant arraignment for high treason against the Throne.
УThat . . . is for you and the Lady Regent to decide, Your Highness,Ф he said. УI . . . I really canТt say anything in her defense, only plead for mercy.Ф
Rudi was angry enough himself, but he winced a little inwardly at the thought too. Not that Sandra Arminger, Regent of the Portland Protective Association, took any particular pleasure in inflicting pain and death. She just used it as a tool, which was considerably worse, if you were on the receiving end. Policy kept going when a sadistТs pleasure in cruelty might be glutted and stop.
Then her daughter frowned. УWell . . . the way it was, they had us cornered. We would all have died, probably, if weТd fought. Alex might just have been trying to save your life. And they didnТt, well, do anything to us except tie us up.Ф
Odard shrugged expressively. УIТll still have him flogged to death if I can.Ф
Rudi ate a biscuit to hide a slight grimace of distaste. Odard Liu wasnТt the complete bastard that his father had been. Edward Liu had beenЧ
Чwhat was the pre-Change word?
What lots of Norman ArmingerТs original supporters had been; theyТd had a term for it in the old world, not bandit or outlaw as people would say these days, butЧ
Ah, sure, and thatТs it. They saidgangsterback then. Or gangbanger.
OdardТs mother had been from a Society householdЧa lot of people whoТd been in the Society for Creative Anachronism had ended up as leaders in various places, Arminger himself among them, though only the most ruthless had been able to stomach MattiТs father. For that matter, the PPA as a whole wasnТt nearly as bad as it had been in Norman ArmingerТs day, before RudiТs blood-father killed him and died himself in a spectacular duel between their armies at the end of the War of the Eye.
Betterdoes nТt necessarily meangood, though,Rudi thought. Then he said: УItТs a little early to be planning revenge, so. Unless the man presents himself within armТs reach of you. WeТve more important concerns.Ф
Mathilda sat up and focused her hazel eyes; there was puzzlement in them now, as well as relief and affection.
УYes, we do! What in the name of all the saints happened back there, Rudi?You were weird enoughЧФ
УThe Morrig· was with me,Ф he said matter-of-factly. УIТd have been dead about . . . seven times, else.Ф
Matti nodded. УBut what aboutKuttner ? He wasnТt just . . . just berserk, the way you got. That was . . . whatwas that?Ф
УIТm not altogether sure,Ф Rudi said, his voice still hoarse.
He touched the bruises on his throat with gingerly caution, the mark of fingers that had squeezed through mail and padded stiffened leather and neck muscles as strong as braided rawhide.
УBut I think,Ф he went on thoughtfully, УI truly think that I was near as no matter throttled to death by a man already dead himself three times over. Both parts of which sentence are a bogglement and enough to make a man run into the trees screaming for his mother, so.Ф
He grinned at his own joke, you had to show willing and that went twice over when you were in charge, but . . .
It would be funny, if only it were funny,he thought.Sad it is that IТm a little old to have Mother kiss my hurts better. Though in this case, itТs as a High Priestess and a spellweaver IТd be asking it of her! And even so . . .
Juniper Mackenzie could do many remarkable things. Raising dead men wasnТt among them, any more than she could change lead into gold or fly by wishing it or throw lightning bolts from her fingertips. Verbal ones, yes, but not the literal split-the-tree type.
Ignatius looked up from his task. УThat was a case of demonic possession, I think,Ф he said calmly, and handed out more filled bowls. УIТve never seen anything like it myself, but the old accounts from long before the Change describe very similar things.Ф
Rudi nodded. Allowing for the different words Christians used to describe it, he thought the soldier-monk was right.
УThe Powers are many, and not all are friendly to humankind,Ф he said, and rubbed his throat again. УAs I can now painfully testify!Ф
Ingolf Vogeler looked up from where he sat, a blanket around his shoulders.
УI . . . I thought Kuttner was just an asshole with an eye for other peopleТs boodlebags,Ф he said, in his Wisconsin rasp. УWhen I thought he was working for the Bossman of Iowa, when VogelerТs Villains went East on that salvage mission from Des Moines. Then when he turned out to be a spy and a traitor working for the Prophet and killed my people and dragged me off to Corwin, I thought he was your common or garden-variety evil shit. And yah, there was a lot of mystical crap in Corwin, but I cut that eye out of KuttnerТs head when I escaped and I thought that proved it was all just a show for the yokels.Ф
Rudi spoke as gently as his abused larynx allowed: УAfter what you saw on NantucketЧthe SwordЧand the message you got there, IТd have been less dismissive ofmystical crap , myself, Ingolf.Ф
The Easterner shivered. УYah, tell me. I was wrong. When the Cutters had me cornered, Kuttner just . . . he said a word and made a sign with his hand, and I couldnТtmove . ThatТs how they took me alive. I couldnТt move, couldnТt do anything but what he said . . . It was like some sort ofspell .Ф
Rudi leaned over, gripping the other man by one thick-muscled shoulder and pouring strength through the contact. He could see the Easterner was bothered by the very word, although that was strange. Or maybe not; he wasnТt a witch, after all, and Rudi was, even if he was no great spellcaster or loremaster like his mother. HeТd seen before that those not of the Old Religion could be spooked by the commonest things sometimes.
How to hearten him? Well, the truth never hurt: