"Bradley,.Marion.Zimmer.-.Darkover.-.Clingfire.1.-.Fall.Of.Neskaya.(.With.Deborah.J.Ross)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

seemed a century ago that he'd watched the frenzied activity of the firefighters. Here Padraic had shouted out orders in that bellow of his, and there Kristlin had fallen on her backside, almost trampled by Beltran's unruly bay stallion.
Kristlin...
He'd hardly recognized her when she'd come downstairs for the handfasting ceremony, wearing a dress that rippled as she walked, blue trimmed with ivory lace at the high neckline and tied about her slender waist with a matching ribbon. Ruella had brushed her unbound hair until it shone like polished brass. At least, Kristlin looked like the child she was, although a pretty one. No one could reasonably assert that she was old enough to be married.
Tessa had worn her good dress, the same as at the banquet after the fire, but she wore no jewels, looking more like a somber young matron than a still-eligible damisela. Margarida practically giggled with relief that she had not been chosen. She wore her hair in a child's braids over a smock she'd embroidered with her own designs of butterflies and windflowers.
Unlike the previous celebration, there had been little rejoicing past the simple proxy ritual. Petro disappeared into one of his black moods and Tessa refused to sing without him, claiming a delicate voice. Eddard's wife excused herself early to take to her bed. Although she had not complained, her skin was ashen with the fatigue of her pregnancy. Coryn worried that Kristlin would mind, but she seemed happier to have the whole thing over with.
"Brother ..." She'd come up so silently he hadn't heard her. "Are you sad?"
He shook his head, startled. Had she sensed his mood? "Not sad, just-just wanting to remember this." He swung his arms wide to the yard, the estate grounds, the mountains with their forests and wild streams beyond.

He hugged her hard, feeling her wiry arms tighten around him.
I'll miss you. The words formed in his mind, so that he could not be sure who had said them. In their separate ways, they were each bidding good-bye to childhood. She would stay at home for a handful of years and then go on to her place as di catenas wife to a king, maybe the mother of kings even greater. His way led to a Tower, to Tramontana, to the secrets of the starstone and clingfire and things he could not yet imagine. He shivered, wondering if he would ever see her again.

4
Coryn would have preferred to leave for Tramontana without either breakfast or fuss, but Dom Rumail departed the same day, so the household stayed up half the night preparing an unusually elaborate meal, everything from cinnamon-flavored apple twists to fat sausages. He'd eaten far more than he wanted, mostly because Rumail kept lecturing him that loss of appetite was one of the danger signs of threshold sickness. He would rather have Tessa fussing over him with her herbs.
Then, while still at the table, Beltran gave yet another speech thanking Rumail, and then one for Coryn's special benefit. Coryn had heard all the phrases before: "family honor" and "noble deportment." His body wouldn't sit still, no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to be away, off to the adventures which surely must await him.
Kristlin sat at her usual place, having defied Ruella and dressed in an old smock and underskirt. Her eyes looked red and she sniffled. Rumail took her small hand in his and said,

"Let the joining of these children bind our lands in enduring goodwill and prosperity. May this union be a harbinger of a new world, one in which brothers no longer make war upon one another, but live together under one King, all obeying the same just rule."
"Peace and happiness for our children and their children is our dearest wish," Beltran replied.
"The question is," Petro muttered as they left the table, "which King and whose version of justice?"
Coryn, his stomach churning with the too-rich food, turned to his brother. They had drawn a little away from the others and spoke in lowered voices. Usually he paid little attention to Petro's rambling, but now he asked, "Do you mean King Damian-or Dom Rumail-would be-would be-" He couldn't quite force out the words, would be tyrants? He knew little of King Damian Deslucido, but Rumail filled him with an uneasiness he could not put words to.
"I don't know," Petro answered. "Dom Rumail has been our good friend and I know nothing against this Damian. My objections apply to any King. If one rules over so many, who must he then answer to? If an ordinary man is treated unjustly-if a farmer starves because royal soldiers steal his crops or a woodsman has his hand chopped off for not bowing quickly enough to suit the King-what can he do but take up arms? And then what will stop the King from turning against his own people? But these are dangerous thoughts, little brother. Keep them to yourself. Promise me."
Coryn gulped and nodded, thinking of his own formless distrust of Rumail.
The party proceeded to the yard, where Rumail's horse and pack animal stood waiting, alongside Coryn's dun Dancer, and a chervine laden with everything a young man entering a Tower might want, from down-stuffed quilt to soothing winterberry lotion, tins of candied figs and rock

sugar, even a set of reed pipes to while away the long winter nights.
Coryn's escort, a livestock handler named One-eyed Rafe, waited beside his own mount. No one knew how he'd lost one eye, although the other looked as pale as if all color had been burned out by gazing too long at the sun. Coryn didn't know the man well, had barely exchanged a few sentences with him. Castle gossip had it that Rafe had been a mercenary soldier in his youth and he looked capable of single-handedly fighting off a small army. The long-knife strapped to his thigh in a well-worn leather sheath had done ample service.
As the final round of well wishes and good-byes drew to a close, Rumail bent to speak to Coryn. "If I alarmed you with my frank talk, it was to prevent you from taking serious symptoms too lightly."
Rumail's nearness sent prickles up Coryn's spine. With relief, he turned to accept one last hug from Margarida. Then he moved toward Dancer, gathering up the reins in preparation for mounting.
Rumail restrained him with a single feather-light touch on the back of the wrist. "You are feeling better now, I can see that. The kirian sometimes has a lasting beneficial effect. But travel, for even a few days, can upset that fragile balance."
He gestured to Rafe. "If the young master should experience any recurrence of threshold sickness, you must make sure he eats well and is kept warm. If he becomes disoriented-doesn't know where he is, doesn't recognize you, seems confused, or cannot eat-then you must give him this." Rumail held out a small glass vial half-filled with colorless liquid. He placed it in a pouch of wool-lined leather and handed it to Rafe. "Only a spoonful at a time. If he can

still ride, make all speed to the Tower. Under no circumstances must you leave him. Do you understand?"
Rafe placed the wrapped vial in his saddlebags without a word, his expression as blank as ever. Clearly, he needed no foreign wizard to teach him his duty.
Kristlin threw herself into Coryn's arms. For once, he had no words of easy reassurance for her. Just as he was beginning to squirm, she drew back. Rumail reached out to stroke her head, but she shied away.
"You are not to touch me." Kristlin lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. "It is not you who is my promised husband, but Prince Belisar, he who will be King."
"Nevertheless, you must speak politely to Dom Rumail, who will be your kinsman," Tessa, who had been following behind, said primly. "And a Queen must be courteous to everyone, especially a laranzu of great power."
"When Coryn comes back from the Tower, we'll have him and then we won't need anyone else!"
Tessa flushed, stammering out an apology for her younger sister's behavior. Rumail waved her words away, saying, "She is but a child, already missing her big brother. I leave her to your care and tutelage, damisela."
Coryn swung up on Dancer's back and took a last leave of his father. As he rode out of the yard, with Rafe in the lead, Kristlin darted after him. She clung to his stirrup.
"I would take you with me if I could, chiya," he said.
Her lower lip trembled, but she shook her head. "I don't want to go to a Tower, not even with you. I want to stay here forever."
On impulse, he said, "At the bottom of my chest is a carved soapwood box. Will you keep it for me? Then, whenever you are missing me, you can hold it and know I am thinking of you."
She brightened, nodded, and released his stirrup. His

hand went to the inner pocket of his vest, where his mother's handkerchief lay safely tucked. As long as it was safe, so was he.
By the time Rafe called a halt for the midday meal, sun and fresh air combined with the exercise of riding to dispel the queasiness from the over-rich breakfast. They were still riding through Verdanta lands, but as the hours wore on, the shape of the hills grew less and less familiar. The trail wound past rock formations pocked with caves, through meadows of sun-parched grass, and down valleys lush with ferns and brambleberries. They stopped to let the horses drink and rest beside a stream.
Coryn sat on a fallen log, picking at the yellow-flecked shelf fungus growing along its length and nibbling the last of his nutbread and cheese. Once this narrow stretch of forest had been wide and deep, and trailmen were said to have roamed it, but the river had become a mere stream and no one had seen the elusive creatures in living memory. Maybe he'd come back some day and look for them. He wouldn't be staying at the Tower forever... would he? He sighed, stretched, and went to get another apple from his saddlebags.
"You've a good enough appetite," Rafe said.
"Yes, I'm fine." Coryn took a bite from the apple. It was last fall's harvesting and had lost its crispness. He'd been searching for the right time to speak all morning. "Rafe ... you're my father's man, are you not, and not Dom Rumail's?"
The old soldier's mouth tightened at the corners. Coryn had guessed right, that he didn't like being given orders by a foreign laranzu. He'd handled the wrapped vial of kirian as if it were tainted with wizard's magic.