The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ in the last five minutes Nicholas had acquired a bloody nose. Scanning the field for Marcus, he noticed that the Duke’s son was not too far from Nicholas, and that his left eye was puffing.

      Harry caught Nakor’s attention across the field, and the little man rolled his eyes heavenward and made a motion with his finger to his head indicating someone was crazy. Harry made a sign asking which one, and Ghuda, who had followed the exchange, motioned that both were. Harry laughed.

      Margaret said, ‘What?’

      ‘They play rough here, don’t they?’

      Margaret laughed a very unladylike laugh, slightly more delicate than a honk, and said, ‘Only when they think they have something to prove, Harry.’

      Harry had never seen Nicholas play so aggressively. The boy had always used his head and his natural quickness in whatever sport he undertook, but he was hurling himself around the field with abandon, his play reaching previously unmatched heights of madness.

      Marcus pushed himself away from Nicholas, and made a running interception of a pass, breaking toward the goal set up at the far end of the field. Nicholas was hot after him, and those looking on cheered loudly at the spectacle.

      Margaret laughed and Abigail sat with her hands clenched in her lap, an expression of open concern on her face. Harry started to cheer, but the sound died in his throat. Nicholas was limping and Harry knew that he couldn’t overtake Marcus. Nicholas strained and forced himself, but there was something wrong in the way he moved.

      Harry jumped from the low wall, and Margaret asked, ‘What?’

      Ignoring her, he raced toward the far end of the field as Nicholas fell to the ground, ignored by the other players as Marcus deftly scored the winning goal. The referee shouted time and the match was over. As the winners gathered around Marcus, Harry reached Nicholas’s side.

      Kneeling next to his friend, he said, ‘Nicholas! What is it?’

      The Prince’s face was contorted and drained of color, while tears ran down his face. He gripped his left leg and could barely speak as he gasped, ‘Help me up.’

      ‘No, damn it, you’re hurt.’

      Nicholas grabbed Harry’s tunic and said, ‘Help me to my feet.’ His voice was an angry whisper, thick with pain. Harry gripped Nicholas’s arm and helped him to his feet.

      Marcus and the other boys approached, with Nakor and Ghuda crossing from the other side of the field. The Duke’s son said, ‘Are you all right?’

      Nicholas forced a smile and said, ‘I twisted my ankle that’s all.’ His voice was nearly unrecognizable to Harry, and the Squire looked at his friend to see his face was chalky. ‘Harry will help me back to my room. I’ll be all right.’

      Before Marcus could say anything, Nakor fixed him with a narrow stare. ‘You broke something?’

      Nicholas said, ‘No, I’m fine.’

      Ghuda said, ‘I’ve seen finer-looking corpses, son. Better let me help you back to your room.’

      Before the old mercenary could move, Anthony took Nicholas’s other arm, saying, ‘I’ll help him.’

      The girls had come up beside Marcus, and Margaret regarded her cousin, all sarcasm forgotten. ‘Are you all right?’

      Nicholas forced a smile. ‘Yes.’

      Abigail stood silently beside the Duke’s daughter, but her eyes showed her concern as Nicholas was helped away, supported on Harry’s and Anthony’s shoulders.

      He hobbled between them until they rounded the perimeter of the garden, when he promptly fainted.

      Nicholas revived as they reached his room. Anthony and Harry eased him down upon his pallet and Harry said, ‘What happened to you?’

      Nicholas said, ‘Someone stomped on my bad foot and I felt something break.’ His face was still drawn, and sweat streamed off it.

      Anthony said, ‘The boot will have to come off.’

      Nicholas nodded and gritted his teeth as they removed the boot. His head swam from the pain but he remained conscious.

      Anthony examined the deformed foot and said, ‘I don’t think there are bones broken, but something’s dislocated. Look at this.’ Nicholas levered himself up on his elbows and saw what Anthony was pointing at: a nasty-looking purple bruise that covered fully half of the top of the foot. Anthony pushed his thumb firmly into the bruise, and Nicholas exclaimed in pain. The magician kept pushing. An audible popping sound was accompanied by a grunt of surprise from Nicholas. Then he moved his foot, wiggling his vestigial toes. Anthony set the foot gently down and Nicholas fell back with a great sigh.

      Anthony said, ‘I’ll send one of the servants down to the harbor for a bucket of salt water. Soak in it for a half hour, then keep the foot elevated and warm for the rest of the evening. You’re going to be sore, but I think you’ll be able to get around. I’ll ask the Duke to excuse you from work tomorrow, and take things easy for a while. You’re going to have a nasty limp for a few days, my friend.’ The young magician stood up and said, ‘I’ll take a look in on you tomorrow, first thing.’

      Harry said, ‘Are you the Duke’s healer, as well as adviser?’

      Anthony nodded. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

      Harry said, ‘I thought healers were priests.’

      Anthony smiled. ‘Mostly, but some magicians are skilled at healing. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nicholas.’

      As the magician moved toward the door, Nicholas said, ‘Anthony.’

      The magician paused and looked down at Nicholas. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Thank you.’

      For a moment Anthony paused, then he smiled, looking no older than either Nicholas or Harry. ‘I understand.’

      After he left, Harry turned to his friend and said, ‘He understands what?’ He pulled over the little stool and sat. From somewhere in his tunic he produced an apple, which he broke in half, giving a piece to Nicholas.

      Lying back as he chewed on the apple, Nicholas said, ‘He understands that Marcus and I are going to be knocking heads and thumping on each other for a while.’

      ‘That wasn’t a game out there, Nicky. That was war. You took more blows in one half today than I’ve seen you take in all last season, and that was thirteen matches. And I’ve never seen you throw as many elbows and shoulders either. You two weren’t playing ball, you were trying to kill each other.’

      Nicholas sighed. ‘How did I get to this point?’

      ‘You had the bad manners to want the same girl as Marcus, and while you’re playing at Squire, he knows you’re a Royal Prince of the Kingdom and he’s only a Duke’s son.’

      ‘Only a Duke’s son?’

      Harry shook his head. ‘You can be thick at times, my friend.’ Waving his hand, he said, ‘If Marcus came sailing into any СКАЧАТЬ