"Bujold, Lois McMaster - Chalion 3 - The Hallowed Hunt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bujold Lois McMaster)

She blinked at him. УNo,Ф she said in a voice of reason, УI just told you. The leopard did not come to me till Boleso lay dying.Ф
УYes, but you could say otherwise. There is none to gainsay you.Ф
Her stare grew offended.
We must return to this argument, I think. Ingrey waved a weak hand. УWell. And thenЕ?Ф
УThat night, in my cell, I had vivid dreams. Warm forests, cool glens. Tumbling in golden grasses with other young cats, spotted and soft, but with sharp bites. Strange men. Nets, cages, chains, collars. A ship journey, a cart journey. More men, cruel and kind. Loneliness. There were no words in these dreams. It was all feelings, and flashes of vision, and strong smells. A torrent of smells, a new continent of odors.
УI first thought that I was going mad, but then I decided not. That closet was just like a cage, in a way; cruel and kind men brought food and cleaned it out. It was familiar. Calming.
УOn the second night, I dreamed the leopardТs dreams again. But this timeЕФ Her voice faltered. Steadied. УThis time, there came a Presence. There was nothing to see, in that black wood, but the smells were wonderful, beyond any perfume. Every good scent of the forest and field in the fall. Apples and wine, roast meat, crisp leaves and sharp blue air. I smelled the autumn stars, and cried out for their beauty. The leopardТs spirit leapt in ecstasy, like a dog greeting its master or a cat rubbing around the skirts of its mistress. It purred, and writhed, and made eager noises.
УAfter that, the leopardТs ghost seemed pacified. No longer frightened or wild. It justЕlies there contentedly, waiting. No, more than contentedly. Joyfully. I donТt know what it waits for.Ф
УA presence,Ф echoed Ingrey. NoЧshe said, a Presence. УDid aЧdo you thinkЧwas it a god? That came to you, there in the dark?Ф
Did he doubt it? Luminous, Ingrey had called her, with a perception beyond sight, however denied. And even in those first confused moments, he had not mistaken it for mere physical beauty.
Her face grew suddenly fierce; she said through her teeth, УIt didnТt come to me, it came to the accursed cat. I wept for it to come to me. But it did not.Ф Her voice slowed. УPerhaps it could not. I am no saint, fit to have a god inhabit me.Ф
Ingrey grubbed in the moss with nervous fingers. His split scalp had stopped dripping blood into his eyebrows, finally. УIt was also saidЧthough not by the Quintarian divinesЧthat the Old Wealdings used animal spirits to commune with the gods.Ф
Her lovely jaw clenched; her eyes turned a ferocious light upon him, so that he nearly recoiled. Only then, and only for that brief instant, did he see how much seething terror she concealedЧhad from the first been concealingЧbeneath her composed surface. УIngrey, curse you, you have to tell me, you must talk, or I shall go mad in truthЧhow did you come by your wolf?Ф
Hers was not some idle curiosity, spurred by gossip. It was a most desperate need to know. And how much would he, in his first confusion so long ago, have given for some experienced mentor to tell him how to go on? Or even for a companion as confused as he, but sharing his experience, matching his confidences instead of denying them and naming him demented, defiled, and damned? And all the things he could never have explained even to a sympathetic ear, she had just experienced.
It still felt like hauling buckets from a well of memory with a rope that burned his hands. He gritted his teeth; began.
УI was but fourteen. It all came upon me without warning. I was brought to the ceremony uninstructed. My father had been for some daysЧor weeksЧdistraught about something that he would confide to no one. He suborned a Temple sorcerer to accomplish the rite. I do not know who caught the wolves, or how. The sorcerer disappeared immediately afterЧwhether in fear of having botched the rite, or because he had deliberately betrayed us, I never found out. I was not fit to inquire, just then.Ф
УA sorcerer?Ф she echoed, leaning against a tree bole. УI saw no sorcerer with Boleso. Unless he had one hidden in disguise. If Boleso himself was demon-ridden, I saw no sign, not that I would. Well, you canТt, unless you are god-sighted or a sorcerer yourself.Ф
УNo, the Temple would haveЕФ Ingrey hesitated. УIn Easthome, some sensitive from the Temple must have detected it, if Boleso had caught a demon. If heТd caught it more recently, since his exileЕhe might not have encountered anyone with the gift to discern it.Ф But whatever had been wrong with Boleso had surely been going on since before heТd slain his manservant.
УI cannot guess what powers his menagerie might have given him,Ф said Ijada. УI know things now that I do not see with my eyes. The leopard seems to give me a kind of knowledge or perception, butФЧher hand clenched in frustrationЧУnot in words. Why doesnТt your wolf help you so?Ф
Because I have worked for a decade and more to cripple it, bind it down tight. And I thought I was safe, and now your questions frighten me worse than the wolf-within. УYou said there was a thing, anotherЕsmell, not me or my wolf. A third thing.Ф
She stared at him unhappily, her brows drawing in, as though she grappled for a description of something that had no relation to language. УIt is as if I can smell souls. Or the leopard does, and leaks it to me in patches. I can smell Ulkra, and know he is not to fear. Another few men in the retinueЧI know to stay out of their reach. Your soul seems doubled: you, and something underneath, something dark and old and musty. It does not stir.Ф
УMy wolf?Ф But his wolf had been a young one.
УIЕmaybe. But there is a third smell. It is wound about you like some parasitic vine, pulsing with blood, that has put tendrils and roots into your spirit to maintain itself. It whispers. I think it is some spell or geas.Ф
Ingrey was silent for a long moment, staring down at himself. How could she guess which was which? His wolf spirit was surely a kind of parasite. УIs it still there?Ф
УYes.Ф
His voice tightened. УThen in my next inattentive moment, I might try to kill you again.Ф
УPerhaps.Ф Her eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, as if seeking a sensation that had nothing to do with the senses of the body. As futile as trying to see with her hands, or taste with her ears. УTill it is rooted out.Ф
His voice went smaller still. УWhy donТt you run away? You should run away.Ф
УDonТt you see? I must get to the Temple at Easthome. I must find help. And you are taking me there as fast as may be.Ф
УThe divines were never much help to me,Ф he said bitterly. УOr I would not still be afflicted. I tried for yearsЧconsulting theologians, sorcerers, even saints. I traveled all the way to Darthaca to find a saint of the Bastard who was reputed to banish demons from menТs souls, to destroy illicit sorcerers. Even he could not disentangle my wolf spirit. Because, he told me, it was of this world, not of the other; even the Bastard, who commands a legion of demons of disorder and can summon or dismiss them at His will, had no power over it. If even saints cannot help, the ordinary Temple authorities will be useless. Worse than uselessЧa danger. In Easthome, the Temple is the tool of the powerful, and it seems you have offended the powerful.Ф
Her gaze sharpened. УWho put the geas on you? Must it have been someone powerful?Ф
His lips parted, closed again. УI am not sure. I cannot say. It all slips away from me. Unless I am reminded, I donТt even remember, between one time and the next, trying to kill you. A momentТs distraction on my part could be deadly to you!Ф
УThen I will undertake to remind you,Ф she said. УIt should be easier, now that we both know.Ф
As he opened his mouth to protest, he heard a distant crashing in the woods. A man called, УLord Ingrey?Ф and another, УI heard voices toward the riverЧover that wayЕ!Ф
УTheyТre coming!Ф He struggled to his feet, swaying dizzily, his hands extending to her in pleading. УBefore they find us. Flee!Ф
УLike this?Ф she said indignantly, sweeping a hand down her damp costume, her bare feet. УSoaking wet, no money, no weapons, no help, I am to run off into the woods andЧwhat? Be eaten by bears?Ф Her jaw set. УNo. Boleso came from Easthome. Your geas came from Easthome. It is there that the source of this evil must be stalked. I will not be diverted.Ф
УSomeone there would kill you to keep you silent. TheyТve already tried. They might kill me.Ф
УThen youТd better not babble about this to anyone.Ф
УI donТt babbleЧФ he began in outrage, but then their rescuers were upon them, two of IngreyТs men on horseback hacking through the undergrowth. Now he wanted to talk to her, and could not.
УMy lord!Ф cried Rider Gesca in gladness. УYou have saved her!Ф
Since Ijada did not correct this misperception, neither did Ingrey. Evading her gaze, he climbed to his feet.
CHAPTER THREE
W HEN THEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE WAGON WAITING ON THE far bank, the sun had slipped behind the treetops. A level orange glint shone through the tangled branches by the time Ingrey and his prisoner had traded off for dry clothes and mounted their recaptured horses. IngreyТs head, wrapped in a makeshift strip of cloth, was pounding, and his shoulder was stiffening, but he refused even to contemplate the idea of sitting in the wagon atop BolesoТs box. The cortege clambered out of the wooded valley and on into the gathering twilight.
A chill mist began to arise from the ditches and fields. Ingrey was just about to order his lead riders to light torches to guide them when a distant glow on the road resolved into a string of bobbing lanterns. A few minutes later, an anxious Halloo sounded above trotting hoofbeats. The man Ingrey had sent ahead that morning to ready Reedmere for Boleso spurred forward to greet them. He brought with him not only Temple servants with lights, but a fresh team of horses already harnessed, together with a wheelwright and his tools. Ingrey gave the prudent guardsman a heartfelt commendation, the teams were exchanged, and the procession started up again at a faster pace. In a few more miles, the lights above the walls of Reedmere shone to guide them to the gate held open for them.
Reedmere was no hamlet, but a town of several thousand souls, and the local center of Temple administration. Its temple on the town square, though large, was still very much in the old rural style: a five-sided wooden hall decorated outside and in with elaborate twining carvings of plants and beasts and scenes from saintsТ tales. The roof was wood shingle, doubtless lately replacing rustic thatch. In any case, it made a fit enough barn to store BolesoТs coffin for the night. ReedmereТs anxious ruling lord-divine, assisted by most of the lay stewards of his civic council, hastened to oversee the princeТs placement therein and intone prayers. A gaggle of curious townsfolk had dressed up and assembled into a passable choir. More superior citizens mustered to make loyal obeisance at the bier; Ingrey sensed a slight disappointment that the coffin was closed. Ingrey let his bandages excuse him from the ceremonies.
The templeТs outbuildings seemed mostly to consist of nearby houses recommissioned to new duties. The divineТs residence was in a building with the Temple notaryТs office; the library and scriptorium shared quarters with the Daughter of SpringТs Lady-school for the townТs children; the Temple infirmary, dedicated to the Mother of Summer, occupied the back rooms of the local apothecaryТs shop. Ingrey saw his prisoner turned over to some stern-looking female Temple servants, gave a few coins to the wheelwright for his time, made sure the horses were stabled and his men housed, paid off the yeoman-teamster and his wife and found them and their horses lodgings in the town for the night, and, finally, reported to the infirmary to have his head stitched.
To his relief, Ingrey found that the MotherТs practitioner here was more than just a local seamstress or midwife; she wore the braid of a school dedicat on the shoulder of her green robe. With briskly efficient hands she lit wax candles, washed his head with strong soap, and sutured his scalp.
Sitting on her bench staring at his knees and trying not to wince at every needle poke or tug of the threads, he inquired, УTell me, does Reedmere harbor any Temple sorcerers? Or saints? Or petty saints? OrЕor even scholars?Ф
She laughed. УOh, not here, my lord! Three years ago, a Temple inquirer from the FatherТs Order brought a sorcerer with him to investigate a charge of demon magic against a local woman, but nothing was found. The inquirer gave her accusers a pretty scorching lecture, after, and they were fined his travel costs. I must say, the sorcerer was not what I expectedЧsour old fellow in BastardТs whites, not much amused, I gathered, to be dragged out onto the roads in winter. There was a petty saint of the Mother at my old schoolФЧshe sighed in memoryЧУI wished IТd had the half of his plain ordinary skill, as well as his holy sight and touch. As for scholars, Maraya who runs the Lady-school is about the best we can do, apart from the lord-divine himself.Ф
Ingrey was disappointed, but not surprised. But sorcerer or saint or someone Sighted, he must find, to confirm or deny Lady IjadaТs disturbing assertions. And soon.