"Bard's Tale 03 - Prison of Souls - Mercedes Lackey & Mark Shepherd 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bard's Tale)

another from the rack.
"On your guard," Naitachal said. Alaire took the
position, and tried to focus on the swords. Carlotta's
story still haunted him.
Naitachal quickly tore into him, with more energy
than he expected; once he started trying to avoid the
elf instead of countering his blows, he knew it was all
over.
Again Alaire lay sprawled in an exhausted heap. He
did not even know what he had tripped over. My own
feet, probably. During the fall, he lost track of his
sword. It was now sticking upright out of the ground,
quivering slightly.
"You have more lives than a cat," Naitachal said,
holding out his hand. "You're dead again."
"Don't remind me," Alaire said, struggling to his
feet. At least I'll improve, even if he beats me like this
every time.
The sun was still high in the sky, reflected brightly
in the white walls and the little fishpond in the yard of
their home. The house was roomy, and by local stand-
ards was certainly a "mansion," but of course it was
nothing like the opulence Alaire had grown up in.
That made it all the better; he felt free here, and the
simple pleasures of country life were a welcome relief
from the court.
Rising from the center of the home was a watch-
tower, giving the house a templelike appearance. An
odd conceit, but one that gave both of them pleasure
in watching storms and stars. From the watchtower,
one could see the distant coastline, and sometimes
even the sail of a ship.
Up on the hillside above the house, in Alaire's line
of sight with the watchtower, he caught movement.
Up there was the only road leading into the estate, and
the moving figure on it might have been a man on a
horse, or a carriage. It was too far away for the
bardling to make out exactly what it was, much less
who. Naitachal apparently noticed too, regarding the
approaching visitor with interest.
"Messenger," Naitachal said simply. "From the
court." Alaire squinted, but still couldn't make out the
outline. Naitachal had demonstrated, repeatedly, that
his eyesight was superior to any humans, so Alaire
took his word for it
"Messenger?" he asked. "Is he armed? Is he from
Father's personal guard?"
"No," Naitachal replied, and Alaire sighed with
relief. A messenger from the Royal Bodyguard would
have been a certain sign that the news was bad. It