The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ found an empty bench in a hall between the great hall and some guest quarters and sat down. He leaned against the wall and felt fatigue in his bones and wondered how he could be so wrung out when he’d barely lifted his sword save to command bow fire down on the Keshians. He supposed he could have taken a bow and stood in the crenels shooting down, exposing himself to enemy arrows, but given how bad he was as an archer, it would probably have been a waste of arrows. That they could not afford.

      He wished desperately his father or Hal or both were here. Even the sight of Brendan would have cheered him. He was not the man to be in command. He barely considered himself a man, despite having passed six summers since his ‘manhood’ day on his fourteenth Banapis Festival. Yes, he had drawn enemy blood before, but those were rabble: goblins and outlaws. This? This was war, and opposing him was a seasoned Keshian commander with battle-hardened soldiers at his disposal.

      When he thought of war he thought of the great battles told of in the archives. When Borric I had charged across the plains north-west of Salador, outnumbered by half again as many soldiers under Jon the Pretender. He had wondered more than once if he had been a member of the Congress of Lords which side he would have chosen. Borric had the claim, as eldest son of the King’s younger brother, but Jon had been Borric’s bastard cousin, and was immensely popular. History was written by the victors, his old teachers had told Martin, so the chronicles were canted in Borric’s favour, but there was enough to tell a careful reader that Jon’s claim was no less a claim.

      When he thought of warfare Martin remembered reading the various accounts of the siege of Crydee, during what was commonly known as the Riftwar, the Tsurani invasion. It was all the more vivid because he could walk the walls and visit each location recounted in the narrations. As a youngster he used to take the text and stand where Arutha was when Fannon was felled by an arrow and walk to where the Prince had stood rallying his soldiers to repulse wave after wave of attackers.

      Martin had always been Arutha in his imagination, despite his own many great-grandfather and namesake, later Duke Martin, being a significant figure of the battle.

      He couldn’t imagine how Arutha would have dealt with this situation, being forced to withdraw in the face of overwhelming odds. He closed his eyes for a moment.

      In what seemed to be a second later Bethany was shaking him awake. ‘It’s sundown and the Keshians haven’t come yet,’ she said, softly. ‘The wounded are ready to leave.’

      He blinked and shook his head, not entirely awake.

      She repeated herself and he stood. ‘Sorry, I fell asleep.’

      ‘Obviously.’ She slipped her arm through his. ‘You drive yourself too hard.’

      ‘I was wondering what Prince Arutha would have done in my place, just before I fell asleep.’

      ‘Exactly what you’re doing: trying to make the best of a terrible situation.’

      He smiled tiredly. ‘Let’s get started.’ He disentangled his arm from hers and led her down to the sub-basement, where six litters were being carried by a dozen men.

      Sergeant Ruther said, ‘Ready, sir.’

      ‘Begin,’ said Martin.

      The tunnel was low, so the litter-bearers had to bend forward a little, but they managed to get the six men too wounded to walk, through. Then those who could walk began to enter the dark maw of the tunnel.

      After the last of them had gone through, Martin turned to Bethany. ‘Now, I want you to round up the few remaining women and I want you out that tunnel within the half-hour.’ When she seemed ready to object he said, ‘It appears the Keshians may wait until first light to begin the assault on the keep itself, so we shall all be far from here when they do.’

      ‘You’re coming after us?’

      He nodded. ‘I will be the last to leave, but I will leave, that is a promise.’

      She didn’t appear convinced, but nodded. ‘Just don’t do anything heroic and foolish so that someone writes some damned chronicle about you one day.’

      ‘That’s unlikely,’ said Martin with a fatigued smile. ‘Now, go.’

      She ran up the stairs, and the sergeant said, ‘Sir, if I may?’

      ‘Sergeant?’

      ‘Let me be the last to leave, sir.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Three reasons, sir, if you don’t mind the truth.’

      ‘I’ll probably mind, but say on anyway, Ruther.’

      ‘Thank you, sir. First of all, you’re tired beyond thinking, and men that tired do not have the wits the gods gave a turnip. You might make mistakes that will get men killed.

      ‘Second, you’re young and just might do what Lady Bethany said, try something heroic and get yourself killed, and I do not want to explain to your father how I managed to let that happen.

      ‘Third, if you’re going to marry that girl you should make sure you both stay alive.’

      ‘Marry—?’

      ‘Do you think no one else noticed how you are when she’s around all these years, Martin?’ Ruther gripped the young man’s shoulder. ‘Maybe your father was too busy being Duke to pay attention to his sons as close as he could – heavens know I think of him as a good man and wise ruler, but fathers sometimes miss things about their sons. But no one who’s seen you around Bethany since you were fifteen could mistake how you felt about her, and it seems she feels the same way about you.’

      ‘Well, her father and mine may have different plans,’ said Martin.

      ‘That may well be, but you will have no chance to discuss the matter with your father if you’re lying face down on the stones of this keep in a pool of your own blood, now will you?’

      Martin couldn’t think. ‘Very well, how will you proceed if I allow you to be last out?’

      ‘That flying squad you asked for, of brawlers and hooligans. Brilliant. We will hit hard any company that comes through this side of the barbican’s rear door: we’ll barricade the other side door so they will choose this one. We’ll fight as we retreat, and we’ll dump a few traps along the way so we can get to the basement. We’ll fire the hay along the way, and if we’re lucky the tunnel will collapse on a host of them when we’re out the other end.’

      ‘Sounds like a wonderful plan, Sergeant,’ said Martin. ‘That’s exactly what I plan on doing. Now go get those twenty brawlers to rest a bit, organize some traps for me, and when you have finished, I want you personally to see that Bethany, the other women, and half the garrison leave. It’s your charge to see them safely to my father or Yabon. Understood?’

      ‘You’re not going to let me talk you out of this are you?’

      ‘Understood?’ repeated Martin, his eyes narrowing.

      ‘Understood, sir.’

      The sergeant led the way out of the sub-basement and Martin asked as they climbed the stairs, ‘How do you do it, Ruther?’

      ‘Do СКАЧАТЬ