"Bard's Tale 04 - The Chaos Gate - Josepha Sherman UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bard's Tale)
Chapter I Old Friends
Swords clashed together, the hard, clear sound cutting through the cool morning air, echoing off the castle walls. Kevin, once merely a lowly bardling, now Count Kevin, Bard Kevin, struggled to keep the upper hand, but the dark-clad, hooded figure he fought continued to drive him inexorably back across the smooth cobbles of the courtyard. All around him, Kevin knew, various guards and servants were keeping a bemused eye on their lord as they went about their work.
Wonderful. And all I seem to be doing is parrying and parrying again. He's just too inhumanly fast, curse it!
All at once, though, his opponent stepped back and lowered his sword. "Not bad, Kevin. Not bad at all."
"Not bad!" Kevin echoed wearily, brushing back damp reddish strands of hair from his face with his free hand. "Naitachal, this is ridiculous. All we did just now was wear ourselves out. It wasn't working at all!"
"Hush, now," the other murmured. "It was."
"Oh, nonsense."
"It was, I say." Naitachal pushed back his hood, shaking
free a silky, silvery fall of hair, revealing a dark-skinned, ageless, sharply planed face: the classic, coldly elegant face of a Dark Elf. Only the clear blue eyes, bright with joyous life, proved that he, alone of all his kin, belonged to the Light. Slipping a companionable arm around Kevins shoulders, the elf added softly, "We agreed that till we had hard proof no one else should think this was anything other than a duel between friends."
"Well, yes, butЧ"
"And it was only a theory, after all."
"Yes, but..." Frustrated, Kevin let his voice trail off as a servant approached, and he wiped his blade clean with a soft scrap of cloth the man offered him. This wasn't a war sword, of course, though for a practice blade it was sharp enough; the White Elves never did anything by half measures. Still, Kevin admitted, glancing down at the intricately woven guard, he never would have dared study advanced swordplay at all if it hadn't been for this beautifully wrought gift of theirs. It very cleverly shielded his precious hands, which, along with talent, were a musician's most important asset.
The practice blade, and its matching war blade, had come from the Moonspirit Clan in gratitude for the kindness he had shown their deceased kinsman. Eliathanis, Kevin thought with a sudden sharp little pang of sadness, remembering the proud, heroic, doomed elven warrior, then determinedly blocked the past from his mind. It had, after all, been over four years since he and a mismatched little group of adventurers, including Eliathanis, had set out to rescue a count's stolen niece and ended up defeating the half-fairy, thoroughly evil, Princess Carlotta.
"Naitachal," he said suddenly, "this isn't all some sort of elven jest, is it? Do you really believe we can turn my swordplay into a form of Bardic Magic?"
Naitachal shrugged. "Why not? It's not any stranger than a Dark Elf turning Bard!"
Kevin had to grin at that. Naitachal was most certainly the only one of his land ever to harbor a love of music, let alone show a blazing talent for it. "Yes, butЧ"
"You're beginning to sound like a poorly trained parrot," the Dark Elf teased. '"Yes, but, yes, but.' Why do you think Master Aidan let me come here?"
Kevin laughed outright. "Because you've been driving him mad."
"Oh, I have not!"
"Don't give me that look! I received a message from him a few months back all about you." The message, conveying the Master Bard's wry tone beautifully, had told Kevin, "A fanatically determined elf with equally phenomenal raw talent can learn a skill far more quickly and thoroughly than any mere, lowly human. He's a full Bard now, just like youЧand he's just as much of a let's go have an adventure' nuisance!"
Kevin raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Such as what?"
"Such as the fact that just for a moment I found you drawing me into a dancelike pattern I couldn't help but finish. For that matter," the elf added thoughtfully, "at that same moment it was actually difficult to look at you."
"That's because he's a human!" came a shrill taunt. "The ugly things are always tough to look at!"
Kevin glanced up at a small, sharp-faced figure, her glittery wings an iridescent blur as she hovered just out of reach. By now, he knew better than to retort. These days Tich'ki might be the aide of D'Krikas, the castle seneschal, but that rank had hardly dampened her quirky, nasty sense of humor. She remained as fiery-tongued a little menace as ever; as far as Kevin knew, only the woman warrior, Lydia, Tich'la's sometime travelling companion and now the castle's com-mander-in-chief, had ever managed to get the last word.
"Not all of us have the elegance of a fairy," the Bard told the fairy with wry courtesy, and heard her snicker.
"Or the nuisance factor," Naitachal added drily, brushing Tich'ki away as if she was a bothersome insect. "Kevin, if you can do that sword-dance to an enemy, entrancing him into predictable moves . . ."
"I'd have him," Kevin finished, then shrugged. "It's a nice thought, but who knows? We're making up the rules here, andЧah, now what?"
It was usually pleasant being a count; Kevin couldn't deny he enjoyed holding a noble title and overseeing the running of a castle, particularly since in these four years he hadn't made any really bad errors. People here seemed to truly like him. But there were times when he could almost wish he was a nobody again, responsible for no one but himself. Folks were always after a count! If D'Krikas wasn't cornering him to discuss in tedious detail this edict or that, it was Commander-in-Chief Lydia wanting him to oversee the new guard's testing. Or maybe it was the castle baker, bypassing the seneschal to complain directly to the count about the quality of wheat (arguing that since D'Krikas didn't eat bread, D'Krikas could hardly understand the fine points of its baking), or the farrier worrying that the current shipment of iron was underweight (even
though D'Krikas could judge each ingot's weight to a hairbreadth's accuracy), orЧorЧ
Kevin bit back a frustrated sigh. First and foremost, he was a Bard, with the music burning in him, aching to be used. But now that he'd finally earned that status, now that he'd mastered Bardic Magic, there was barely enough free time in a day for him to keep his fingers nimble enough to play anything!
And now here came this messenger from the royal courtЧno. This road-weary man wasn't wearing King Amber's livery. Puzzling over just who outfitted their servants in quartered blue and yellow, Kevin watched Lydia, her decidedly female form nicely outlined by her just-this-side-of-tight leather armor, her curly black hair barely restrained by a leather circlet, lead the man this way. The woman was a coolly competent warrior, but she had her rough, bawdy side. And Kevin didn't like the mischievous glint he saw in her dark eyes.
"That would be Count Trahern's livery," a dry, precise voice said suddenly. Kevin glanced back over his shoulder to see a tall, never-human form towering over him, its shiny, chitinous green skin glinting in the sunlight. D'Krikas, seneschal to Kevin and the two counts who'd preceded him, was Arachnia, not human, totally honorable and as coolly logical and fastidious as all that race. "And that is most certainly Count Trahern's coat-of-arrns on the man's breast," the being continued. "You do remember who Count Trahern is?"
It was impossible to read expression in those glittering, segmented eyes, but Kevin frowned at the touch of condescension in D'Krikas' voice: the Arachnia had a seemingly inexhaustible knowledge of courtly detailЧ and expected the same of Kevin. "Of course," the Bard said shortly. "His lands lie due north of here."
"Indeed. Now, let us see. . . . His messenger carries no parchments with him, nor do any of his servants. Count Trahern has one child, a daughter. I believe her name is Gwenlyn, and she is of what humans consider marriageable age. Therefore," D'Krikas decided, "the man has most likely come to this castle with a miniature of that daughter, and most probably an offer of marriage."
Kevin groaned. "Not another one!"
Lydia had come close enough to hear that, and grinned widely at him. "That's it. Another lovely, lonely lady languishing for your love."
Naitachal, eyes full of amusement, gave her a sweeping bow of appreciation. "Couldn't have said that better myself."
Kevin glared at him. "I thought you were on my side."
The Dark Elf blinked innocently. "But I am! I think a bit of romance would be just the thing for you."
"A bit of romance!" Kevin squawked. "Naitachal, they're all trying to get me married!"
"Indeed." D'Krikas, segmented arms folded neatly, was the very image of propriety. "Have we not been discussing this matter for some time?"
"Ohh yes." The seneschal had been insisting for days that it was high time Kevin found himself a bride.
"Surely you see the need for such a thing?" D'Krikas asked in a voice that said he'd be a fool if he didn't. "After all, you are a count. A count must have an heir, and as quickly as possible, to ensure the succession and protect his people."
"I know, I know." For some time Kevin had been flooded by other miniature portraits of other unmarried daughters. He might, the Bard thought cynically, be of humble origin, but there wasn't a nobleman out
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