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

would have meant, at the very least, a death in the
family. Or an invasion from a foreign land, or some
other earth-shattering calamity.
Naitachal frowned. "Odd. There must be some
urgency to whatever he's delivering. His horse is
exhausted. He's been riding hard for some time now."
Visitors were a rare treat, but Alaire awaited this
one with mixed emotions. If he merely bore a friendly
message from home, why would the messenger run
his horse into the ground? What could have hap-
pened? he wondered. He tried not to let his
imagination get the better of him.
The messenger and his horse drew closer, and
slowed. The boy was sixteen at most, and was wearing
the dark blue riding uniform and plain blue saddle of
Reynard's livery. Perhaps he had simply ridden hard to
impress his own Master with his diligence. Inwardly,
Alaire groaned. No! Not another fancy, gaudy, foofy,
royal visit from some princess at the castle!
"I come bearing a message for Master Bard
Naitachal from his Majesty King Reynard!" the young
man announced even before coming to a stop. The
horse, a beautiful gray palfrey Alaire recognized as one
of the best in the messengers' stable, did a weary little
dance as the boy pulled up next to them. The
messenger, obviously winded and tired, waved a blue
envelope aloft
Alaire changed his mind again. He would have had
to ride straight through two days to get here looking
like that. The horse doesn't look much better. A visit
from one of Derek's would-be brides would not justify
this degree of urgency, and the Master of the Horse
would take this youngster apart for exhausting his
beast if he had only done it to impress. Naitachal
reached up for message, an envelope sealed in wax
with the family crest.
"Please, take your horse to the stables," Naitachal
said, motioning toward the somewhat dilapidated barn
behind the house. 'There is a water pump with the
trough. When you are done, you may go into the
house to wash."
'Thank you, sir," the young man said, saying noth-
ing to Alaire. He directed the palfrey toward the
stables.
He apparently doesn't know I'm the King's son,
Alaire thought. All he sees is Naitachal's bardling. It
was rather refreshing, and he grinned to himself with a
certain amount of relief. They really had forgotten all
about him at court! He might even be able to sneak
back some time and enjoy himself without having to