"Bard's Tale 04 - The Chaos Gate - Josepha Sherman UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bard's Tale)

"The folk of Bracklin accepted me because I was clearly a friend and student of Master Aidan, but that didn't mean they took me into their confidences. Besides," the Dark Elf added with a grin, "I doubt that the matters of commoners and nobles have all that much in common."
"But I'm notЧI mean, I wasn't born noble, I don't understand how nobles think, either, andЧandЧ"
"Hush. From everything I've seen, Kevin, you're doing a fine job as count. And if this Gwenlyn doesn't appreciate what she's getting," Naitachal continued, humor glinting in his blue eyes, "well then, she doesn't deserve so fine a lad!"
"Huh." Studying his lute, Kevin said with forced lightness, "What do Dark Elves know about human
women, anyway? They're so wrapped up in their sinister plots they wouldn't know a pretty woman fromЧ"
"Stop."
Kevin glanced up in surprise at the chill tone. Naitachal's face had suddenly gone cold and still. "Do not jest about them," the Dark Elf warned quietly. "The Nithathili are still my kin. And they hate me for escaping what they saw as my destiny as a NecromancerЧ and for denying them my share of Dark Power."
"They. . . aren't hunting you, are they?"
Naitachal shrugged slightly. "Not yet. Not as far as I know. But who knows what may happen? In their eyes, particularly those of my own clan, I am the worst kind of traitor, one who has willingly turned from the Darkness they worship to the Light. If they ever should choose to hunt me, if they should catch me . .."
He shrugged again, eyes so bleak and empty that Kevin shuddered, remembering with a shock, this is the sorcerer who could age a man to instant death with a touch, just for a moment not at all sure that Naitachal had quite banished all traces of Necromantic magic. "Well, then," the young count said with all the defiance he could muster, "we won't let them catch you!"
To his relief, he heard Naitachal chuckle and saw life come back in to the blue eyes. "Thank you, oh great and mighty hero." The elf got to his feet, slipping his harp back into its protective covering. "So now, our horses look rested enough. Come, let's continue our ride."
Kevin scrambled up. "Ah, wait, I have a thought. We're pretty well travel-stained by now."
"True," Naitachal agreed with a fastidious sniff. "And we reek of horse. I trust your lady will have enough patience to let us clean ourselves up a bit before you start your wooing."
"She's not my lady. And you're missing my point."
"Which is?"
"We were planning to arrive at Count Trahern's castle as Count Kevin and Bard Naitachal."
Naitachal raised a wry brow. "Which, I take it, we're not going to be any longer?"
"No. I've changed my mind about that. If I meet Lady Gwenlyn as a count, as herЧuhЧher betrothed-to-be, we're not going to be able to be honest with each other. We'll be forced to play the roles noble society insists upon: polite, formal and totally artificial. But IЧI want a chance to judge her honestly, and to let her judge me, without rank getting in the way."
"I don't think I like the sound of this."
"Wait, hear me out. We won't enter Count Trahern's castle as nobles, but as common musicians, wandering minstrels, the sort of folk who are usually welcome anywhere but who aren't really noticed unless they're actually performing."
"And you think your lady won't notice you until you want her to notice you." The Dark Elf s voice was carefully empty of emotion. "So you'll have a chance to watch her without any artifices getting in the way."
"She's not my lady. And yes, that's exactly it."
"I'm not too sure about this. IfЧ"
"It'll be easy!" Kevin interrupted hastily. "We've done enough successful role-playing when we were out trying to rescue poor Charina."
Humor flashed in Naitachals eyes. "Indeed. I seem to remember that you made quite a fetching dancing girl."
Kevin shuddered. "Uh, well, we did what we had to do. We won't have to do anything as drastic as that this time around."
"Count Trahern has never actually met you, has he?"
"He's never even seen me. Except, of course, for that stupid, stylized miniature his servant insisted on taking. And as for you... well... you aren't the easiest person to ignore," Kevin said tactfully, "but... ah..."
"But four years isn't enough time for everyone to have heard of the oddity, the Dark Elf who's turned Bard," Naitachal finished blandly. "The one who was the companion of Kevin, the hero Bard. True enough. Our clothes look tired enough to be credible as minstrels' wear, and it's simple enough for me to hide what I am with a hooded cloak and a long-sleeved tunic. But how are you going to explain away our swords and these fine-blooded horses?"
Kevin grinned. "That's easy. They're the gifts of grateful patrons. You see? It'll all be just as easy."
Naitachal shook his head. "You make it all sound so simple. But I think you're missing an important point: starting off a relationship by pretense just doesn't seem wise to me."
"It's not pretense, not really. And there may not be any relationship unless I get that chance to know Lady Gwenlyn fairly."
"Fairly," the Dark Elf echoed.
"Oh, come now, Naitachal! It's only a small deceit, a very small deceit. And. . . well. . . things will turn out fine, you'll see."
"You hope," Naitachal said drily, and swung into the saddle.
Chapter III In The Realm Of Darkness
The cavern was dark and chill, far below the world's surface as it was, lit here and there with the dim, smokeless, sorcerous blue flames that were all the light the Dark Elves, the Nithathili, needed. No ornaments marred the smoothness of the stone walls, no noise marred the heavy quiet. Servants moved with silent, careful grace through the dimness like so many black-robed shadows. These were men and women of the lowest castes, coldly beautiful as their betters but expendable, subject to regal whim or sacrifice. They glanced warily at the regal figure slumped on the obsidian throne as they passed him, sensing the dark waves of his thoughts, not daring to disturb him, not daring to do anything at all that might rouse his interest in them.
Another had no such fears. Tanarchal strode boldly forward, black cloak swirling dramatically about him. He stopped at the proper Distance of Respect, which was technically just out of reach of thrown weapon or spell, and granted the enthroned figure the Ninefold Dignities bow, not quite showing respect, not quite
showing contempt. "Greetings, my Lord Haralachan."
Haralachan, lord of the Nightblood Clan, was tall, ageless and elegant in a hard-edged, chill, predatory way, as all his kin. His skin was dark as his silky robes, his hair a startling mass of silver; his sharply slanted blue eyes, fully adapted to the darkness, glinted with reddish light. He did not stir at Tanarchal's greeting; to have straightened would have shown too much respect to this arrogant creature.
This ambitious creature, Haralachan thought. Walk warily, Tanarchal.
Tanarchal showed no such inclination. "My lord, I was wondering when you were planning to hold a new hunt."
"When it pleases me," Haralachan murmured.
"Ah, of course. But IЧand I speak for many of the clan in thisЧI was wondering when one specific hunt would be held. A hunt for the traitor, for Naitachal."
Haralachan betrayed nothing of his inner start. 'That will come."
"But when, my lord? You are far too wise and cunning to let the traitor escape vengeance. Your kinsman," Tanarchal added delicately, "though he is."
Now Haralachan did straighten on his obsidian throne, casting chill waves of menace at the nobleman, seeing him flinch ever so slightly. "Vengeance will be taken," the Dark Elf lord said flatly. "Do you doubt me?'
"I? Not I, my lord." But the glint in the slanted eyes said otherwise, and Haralachan added coolly, "Do you not? Do you not, indeed?"
"My lord?"
Haralachan rose, drawing Power about him in a swirl of Darkness. "Do you challenge me, Tanarchal? Do you dare?"