"Zelazny, Roger - The 1st Chronicles of Amber - 02 - Guns Of Avalon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

I picked up the blade, pulled on the mask.
"All right," I said, sketching a brief salute and advancing. "All right."
She moved forward then and we met. I let her carry the attack.
She came on very fast with a beat-feint-feint-thrust. My riposte was twice as fast, but she was able to parry it and come back with equal speed. I began a slow retreat then, drawing her out. She laughed and came on, pressing me hard. She was good and she knew it. She wanted to show off. She almost got through twice, too, in the same way -- low-line -- which I did not like at all. I caught her with a stop-thrust as soon as I could after that. She cursed softly, good-naturedly, as she acknowledged it and came right back at me. I do not ordinarily like to fence with women, no matter how good they are, but this time I discovered that I was enjoying myself. The skill and grace with which she carried the attacks and bore them gave me pleasure to behold and respond to, and I found myself contemplating the mind that lay behind that style. At first, I had wanted to tire her quickly, to conclude the match and question her. Now I found myself desiring to prolong the encounter.
She did not tire readily. There was small cause for concern on that count. I lost track of time as we stamped back and forth along the bank of the stream, our blades clicking steadily.
A long while must have passed, though, before she stamped her heel and threw up her blade in a final salute. She tore off her mask then and gave me another smile.
"Thank you!" she said, breathing heavily.
I returned the salute and drew off the bird cage. I turned and fumbled with the jacket buckles, and before I realized it she had approached and kissed me on the cheek. She had not had to stand tiptoe to do it either. I felt momentarily confused, but I smiled. Before I could say anything, she had taken my arm and turned me back in the direction from which we had come.
"I've brought us a picnic basket," she said.
"Very good. I am hungry. I am also curious..."
"I will tell you anything that you want to hear," she said merrily.
"How about telling me your name?" I said.
"Dara," she replied. "My name is Dara, after my grandmother."
She glanced at me as she said it, as though hoping for a reaction. I almost hated to disappoint her, but I nodded and repeated it, then, "Why did you call me Corwin?" I asked.
"Because that is your name," she said. "I recognized you."
"From where?"
She released my arm.
"Here it is," she said, reaching behind a tree and raising a basket that had been resting upon the ridges of exposed roots.
"I hope the ants didn't get to it," she said, moving to a shaded area beside the stream and spreading a cloth upon the ground.
I hung the fencing gear on a nearby shrub.
"You seem to carry quite a few things around with you," I observed.
"My horse is back that way," she said, gesturing downstream with her head.
She returned her attention to weighing down the cloth and unpacking the basket.
"Why way back there?" I asked.
"So that I could sneak up on you, of course. If you'd heard a horse clomping around you'd have been awake sure as hell."
"You're probably right," I said.
She paused as though pondering deeply, then spoiled it with a giggle.
"But you didn't the first time, though. Still..."
"The first time?" I said, seeing she wanted me to ask it.
"Yes, I almost rode over you awhile back," she said. "You were sound asleep. When I saw who it was, I went back for a picnic basket and the fencing gear."
"Oh. I see."
"Come and sit down now," she said. "And open the bottle, will you?"
She put a bottle beside my place and carefully unwrapped two crystal goblets, which she then set in the center of the cloth.
I moved to my place and sat down.
"That is Benedict's best crystal," I noted, as I opened the bottle.
"Yes," she said. "Do be careful not to upset them when you pour -- and I don't think we should clink them together."
"No, I don't think we should," I said, and I poured.
She raised her glass.
"To the reunion," she said.
"What reunion?"
"Ours."
"I have never met you before."
"Don't be so prosaic," she said, and took a drink.
I shrugged.
"To the reunion."
She began to eat then, so I did too. She was so enjoying the air of mystery she had created that I wanted to cooperate, just to keep her happy.
"Now where could I have met you?" I ventured. "Was it some great court? A harem, perhaps...?"
"Perhaps it was in Amber," she said. "There you were..."
"Amber?" I said, remembering that I was holding Benedict's crystal and confining my emotions to my voice. "Just who are you, anyway?"
"...There you were -- handsome, conceited, admired by all the ladies," she continued, "and there I was -- a mousy little thing, admiring you from afar. Gray, or pastel -- not vivid -- little Dara -- a late bloomer, I hasten to add -- eating her heart out for you -- "