The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy: Honoured Enemy, Murder in Lamut, Jimmy the Hand. Raymond E. Feist

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      He lost sight of Gregory for a moment and felt a surge of panic when he tore his gaze away from the fire and realized he couldn’t see the Natalese Ranger. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and stumbled forward, startled when the ice cracked beneath his feet. An instant later a hand snapped around his throat. He started to cry out, but then the hand released him and he found himself staring into Gregory’s eyes.

      ‘First lesson. Never lose contact with your partner when scouting at night,’ Gregory whispered. His voice was calm, there was no reproach in it. It was as if the two of them were simply having a pleasant chat while strolling through the woods.

      ‘You looked at the fire glowing, you were wishing you were inside, you forgot about me.’

      Richard nodded, and suddenly realized that behind the calm words he could see a dagger in Gregory’s other hand.

      ‘Yes, I could have killed you as easily as a baby asleep in a cradle. Remember that, boy, for that’s what they’ll do to you.’

      Not sure how to react, Richard could only nod.

      ‘Second lesson: never look at a fire when you’re on night patrol. It robs you of sight in the dark. Look to one side or the other. On watch, stand with your back to the fire. Blind yourself for even just a moment, and it can cost you your life. Now get your own dagger out. This isn’t a night for archery or swordplay.’

      Gregory turned and continued forward and this time Richard stayed close, trying to mimic his movements, the fluid glide to his steps, noticing a certain rhythm … half a dozen quick steps, a pause, head turning, then forward, though at a slightly different angle; again, the pause. Once he stopped, pointing down and Richard looked, seeing footsteps in the frozen mud and a stain where someone had relieved himself.

      ‘Troll,’ Gregory whispered. ‘You can tell by the smell.’

      Richard nodded. The forest trolls of southern Yabon where he had been a boy were barely more than animals, without language and little more dangerous than a bear or lion. They were scarcely a nuisance to a party of armed men. Mountain trolls on the other hand had language and weapons and knew how to use them. And now they were in the woods around him. He gripped his dagger tightly.

      ‘Night watchers,’ Gregory whispered. ‘The moredhel call them allies, but treat them like slaves; so do the human renegades who travel with this kind of group. They’re all inside the mine staying warm while the trolls are out here freezing.’ He was quiet for a moment, then softly he added, ‘It’s a stupid choice; trolls don’t have the discipline needed for a night like this.’

      Gregory pushed forward. They pressed down a low rise and then started to climb to the next ridge, moving parallel to the road they had run along earlier in the day. Richard even recognized the place where the group had broken off from the road, spotting the cleft boulder with a tree growing out of the middle that marked the spot.

      Gregory stopped and held up his hand. He then pointed to the side of the boulder, the downwind side and held up his hand, two fingers extended.

      Richard felt his heart trip over. Two forms were huddled beneath the downwind side of the boulder, hunched over a small flickering fire … two trolls.

      Richard started to reach over his shoulder to pull out his bow and string it. Gregory shook his head. Motioning to the dagger in Richard’s hand, he then drew a finger across his throat.

      Richard felt his knees go weak. This madman was telling him they were going up to the trolls to cut their throats!

      Gregory remained still for several minutes as if frozen to the earth. Richard crouched behind him, limbs trembling. To his disbelief Gregory stood up and ever so casually started forward, walking in the open. Richard didn’t move. Gregory, without looking back, motioned for him to follow.

      Richard, barely able to walk on shaky legs, followed. The trolls were a scant thirty paces away.

      The two approached. One of the trolls finally stirred and raised its head. Richard suddenly realized that the two of them had been asleep and Gregory knew it. The first troll started to say something, Gregory responded in a guttural tongue, and then sprinted the last half dozen paces until he was on the troll, dagger flashing in the firelight.

      ‘Come on boy!’ he hissed. ‘Kill the other!’

      Richard remained frozen in place, watching, terrified as Gregory’s dagger slashed down. The other troll started to stand up.

      He was not even sure how he got there but suddenly the troll was in front of him, filling his world. Shorter than a man, the creature was wider at the shoulders by half again. Its misshapen forehead was dominated by a massive black brow, from under which tiny black eyes glinted. Its massive jaw jutted out and it displayed its teeth in a snarl, large pointed incisors extending beyond the upper and lower lips. A leather helmet was tightly pulled down, covering the large, pointed ears.

      The troll slammed into Richard, pushing him up against the boulder, driving his dagger into the beast’s stomach. There was a gasp of pain, fetid breath washing over him, claws tearing at his face. Richard tucked his own chin down and crouched and the lethal claws raked across the stone of the boulder behind him.

      ‘The throat boy, the throat!’

      Richard yanked his dagger free and tried for the throat, stabbing upward, but the troll, fighting in blind panic, blocked him. Instead he slashed at the beast’s arms, cutting it again and again. Even as he tried to kill the troll he felt horrified, sickened, sensing the agony and terror of his victim.

      ‘Die! Just die, damn you!’ he cried, continuing to slash until the point of his dagger went in below the troll’s chin and up into its brain. The beast sagged down with a groan and collapsed. Richard stepped back, sobbing, turned away, and vomited.

      ‘Don’t ever hesitate, boy.’

      Richard, still bent double, looked up. Gregory was standing beside him, half-turned away, watchful gaze scanning the trail.

      Richard realized that Gregory had finished his victim within seconds and rather than help had simply stood by, watching as he made his own kill. He felt a wave of anger and also of shame. He scooped up a handful of snow to wipe his mouth and hands clean. He was trembling, suddenly afraid that he might lose control completely and soil himself.

      ‘It’s all right,’ Gregory whispered. ‘Its one thing to kill in the heat of battle the way you did two days ago. This is different, even if it is a troll. It may be war, boy, but this is as close as a lawful man gets to black murder.’ He put a reassuring hand on Richard’s shoulder. ‘You did just fine, son. More than one man’s turned and run the other way.’

      Even as he talked he continued to scan, carefully watching the trail and the surrounding forest. After a few moments of checking the signs to see if the struggle had alerted others, he said, ‘Good. They’re spread out too thin, hunched over fires and falling asleep from exhaustion. No one saw us. Come on.’

      Gregory stepped back, picked up the feet of one of the trolls and dragged it away from the fire, hiding it on the far side of the boulder. Richard hesitated then finally reached down and dragged his own victim. The body was heavy, he could feel the warmth of it even through the foot wrappings. He laid the body down next to the other. Gregory had rolled the troll half over and was stripping off the heavy blanket wrapped around its shoulders.

      ‘Take his too.’

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