Farmer, Philip Jose Lord Tyger
Foley, Gaelen 2 Lord of Ice
Jeffrey A. Carver Parrone The Dragons
Philip K. Dick Blade Runner
Barbara Cartland Love, Lords & Lady Birds (pdf)
51. Conan pan Czarnej Rzeki (Conan, Lord of the Black River) 1996
Jeffrey Lord Blade 22 Forests of Gleor
Jeffrey Lord Blade 10 Ice Dragon
C Howard Robert Conan i Bogowie Bal Sagoth
Witold Zechenter Avaxara
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
all caution to the winds!"
Blade found that the prospect of trying his plan under the eyes of three
hostile Dukes didn't make him feel bolder. Failure would now be twice as
public, twice as embarrassing, and twice as likely to ruin
Cyron's hopes. There was no turning back, either, when the duel was going to
be tomorrow!
He mentally gritted his teeth, determined to let no doubts show on his face.
He'd laid his plans as carefully as he could and worked out all the details
with Cheeky. It wasn't his fault or the Feathered
One's that the stakes were suddenly so much higher. Blade still wondered if he
really might be losing the proper balance between caution and-boldness? Even
worse, was he losing it where other people besides himself might be the
victims? He'd have to talk to J about this when he returned to Home Dimension.
Blade might have slept better that night if his window hadn't given him a view
of the camps of all three visiting Dukes. He could see the torches of the
sentries, the cooking fires, the lanterns hanging from the tent doors. He
could also see more torches lighting the work of the men smoothing down the
game field for the monkey duel tomorrow.
Miera knew that something was bothering her husband, and did her best to make
him forget it.
Unfortunately she wasn't yet quite experienced enough in bed to succeed. Blade
was able to give her all she wanted, but he himself lay awake for quite a
while afterward.
He was still out of bed before dawn, walking through the camps of the three
Dukes to get a firsthand picture of the enemy. He didn't quite trust Duke
Cyron and Marshal Alsin enough to take their word on anything he could check
for himself. Even if he'd trusted them more, he'd have made the tour of the
camps. The most accurate information from someone else still wasn't quite the
same as what you saw and heard yourself.
Duke Padro of Gualdar was in his early twenties, slim, dark, mustached, and
good-looking in a rather effeminate fashion. Blade wasn't surprised to see a
number of painted and perfumed young men drifting around his camp. Most of
them wore swords, but they also wore such extravagant outfits of lace and
ruffles, embroidery and gilded buttons, that Blade doubted that they'd be much
good in a fight. They'd be too worried about getting spots on their clothing.
Padro's fops shared their luxurious tent with a dozen gigantic men in steel
and leather. They roamed the
Duke's camp, hard eyes searching every passing face, and scarred brown hands
never far from the hilts of swords or throwing spears. Duke Padro's Master of
the Feathers had a similarly efficient staff, and the tent which housed his
Feathered Ones was the largest in his camp. It was also the best guarded.
Duke Garon of Ney was supposed to be the best jouster of any Duke for the last
three generations. He certainly looked it-chunky, hard-muscled, bowlegged, and
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obviously hard as iron in spite of the gray in his hair. His men were nothing
remarkable, but his horses were the finest Blade had seen in this
Dimension. Finest of all was his chestnut war charger, Kanglo. Unlike Cyron or
Padro, Duke Garon had plenty of heirs-four sons, as a matter of fact. None of
the four was on good terms with any of the others, and much of Garon's time
was spent keeping the peace among them. Wisely enough, he hadn't brought any
of them with him.
Duke Raskod of Issos also had heirs, two sons and a daughter. One of the sons
was feeble-witted, and neither of them was with him at Castle Ranit. Instead
he'd brought his famous harem, or at least part of it.
Blade counted six good-looking young women taking the air outside a closely
guarded tent. Duke
Raskod himself was nowhere in sight, but this didn't surprise Blade. The Duke
was known all over the
Crimson River lands for his laziness. He wouldn't be up much before breakfast
unless his camp caught fire.
The thought of breakfast made Blade aware that he'd worked up an appetite
touring the camps. He mounted his horse and rode back to the castle. On the
way he saw a man walking alone beside the road.
From a distance he looked so much like Chenosh that he drew rein.
"Lord Chenosh! May I offer you-oh, sorry." The man wore a merchant's garb,
covered with dust and patches. He also stooped slightly, and his mustached
face was much darker than Chenosh's. Blade rode on.
Blade ate an immense breakfast, alone except for Chenosh, who came in as he
was nearly finished.
Chenosh was freshly bathed, impressively dressed, and generally looking more
like a Duke's heir than
Blade had ever seen him. At least he would have looked this role if he hadn't
been so obviously nervous. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
