"01 - Wizard's Bane (b)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Rick)

"It was nothing, Lady," he said uncomfortably.
"It was, and again I thank you."
Wiz did not reply. "Lady," he said finally, "may I ask you a question?"
"Since you must."
"I mean we won't be overheard or anything will we?"
"We will almost certainly be overheard, although mayhap Duke Aelric is too noble to pry into the affairs of his guests. Question if you must, but guard your tongue."
"Where is everyone? I mean, does Aelric live here all alone?"
Moira shrugged. "I doubt it, for elves are social creatures. But the place cold be aswarm with elven folk and we might see none. All elves have the trick of not being seen when it pleases them."
"Why did Aelric help us? Are the elves allied against the League?"
Again the shrug. "Allied against the League? No. Elves ally with none and barely notice what mortals do to each other. His Grace acted for his own reasons and those are beyond conjecture. Barring war or murder, elves are deathless and they fill their years with contests and rivalries among themselves. They play deep and subtle games with their own kind and meddle seldom in the affairs of mortals. Perhaps we are part of such a game."
"Well, as long as he's willing to put us up, we can be whumpuses for all I care."
"What's a whumpus?"
"An imaginary animal." Wiz lay back on the couch and started to put his feet up before looking at his muddy shoes and thinking better of it. "Now what?"
"Now we had best make ready for dinner." Moira rose from the chair. "This is your room, I believe."
The bedroom managed to be magnificent, simple and cozy all at once. The canopied bed was made of some rich dark wood crafted in sleek, almost modern, lines and polished until it glowed a warm reddish brown. The sheets were tan and the thick comforter was a pale russet. The lighting was soft and indirect, brighter than the twilight the elves seemed to prefer but not as bright as the sitting room. The bed looked so inviting Wiz nearly sank down onto it, but he knew if he got comfortable he'd never be ready for dinner. He had a strong feeling it would not do to keep Aelric waiting.
The bath beyond was walled in pink-veined marble set with gold. In the center of the room was a sunken tub of steaming water, fragrant with herbs.
Wiz moved toward it, pulling at his shirt.
He had the shirt over his head when soft warm hands touched his bare back.
"Hey!" Wiz tried to turn, but the hands restrained him gently and helped him get the shirt off. With his head free, Wiz turned, but the room was empty.
"What is this?"
The only answer was a very feminine giggle as someone started to undo his belt. He looked down and saw nothing, yet his belt was unhooked and fingers began to unzip his fly. Instinctively he reached down to knock the invisible hands away, but he met only air. Again someone or something giggled.
Oh well, Wiz thought and submitted.
Once his unseen companion had undressed him, he stepped into the just-too-warm water and sighed luxuriously.
Wiz was expertly soaped, scrubbed and rinsed. The water that came off him was black with dirt, but the water in the tub remained so clear he could see his toes.
Clean and glowing, he was assisted from the tub and rubbed down with towels he could not see. It felt like there were two or three pairs of hands working on him at once. Either there's a whole harem in here or she doesn't look anything like what I imagined, Wiz thought.
His clothes were gone, but when he reentered the bedroom new clothes were laid out for him, a shirt with enormous puffed sleeves, a russet doublet several shades darker than the bedspread and a pair of tight buckskin breeches. Soft calf-high boots of ox-blood leather completed the outfit.
This time there were no invisible hands to help him so Wiz dressed himself, struggling with the unfamiliar fastenings.
Not bad, he thought, surveying the result in a full-length mirror. He looked like a real swashbuckler, lean rather than skinny.
Moira was waiting for him when he emerged. If Wiz looked good in his borrowed clothes, Moira was breathtaking. She wore a gown of emerald green velvet, cut low and caught tight at the waist, with full-length sleeves that flared sharply from elbow to wrist. Her hair was a flaming mane about her face, held in place with silver pins set with opals. Wiz could only stare.
"Do you like it?" she asked somewhat shyly. "I've never had a dress like this."
"It's gorgeous," said Wiz when he finally got his lower jaw under control. "You're gorgeous."
"Thank you, Sparrow," she dropped him a mock curtsey. Then she became serious. "Now watch yourself. Be respectful and above all, be courteous. Elves place great store on courtesy and there are very few mortals who have shared Duke Aelric's table."
Wiz nodded dumbly and moved toward her. She moved away with fluid grace.
"Shall we go?"
"Is it time?"
Moira only smiled and opened the door. Their guide was waiting for them. He bowed so low his forehead almost touched the floor and led them off.
Again their way took them down empty corridors and magnificent halls, all bathed in the soft dim light. At length the little man brought them down a stair as subtly curved and carefully proportioned as a sea shell, to a great bronze door. The door swung open at their approach. The creature bowed to the floor and motioned them within.
Their host awaited them inside the door.
"My Lady. My Lord." He had changed his red tunic for a tight-fitting outfit of silver-gray velvet. Silver glinted at his neck and wrists and a silver band set with a fiery blue opal held back his white hair. He was fully as magnificent as he had been when they first saw him, but now the effect was less barbaric, more civilized.
He bowed to them and Wiz bowed back as best he could. Then the duke took Moira's arm in his and led them to the table.
The odd half-light made it impossible for Wiz to judge the size of the room. The far walls were lost in the dimness, but Wiz didn't feel dwarfed. The floor was elaborately patterned parquetry and the table was draped in snow-white linen. Softly glowing balls of light hung above the table. They danced gently in an unfelt breeze and the ripple and play of the light was like candlelight on the table and diners.
Invisible pipers played a high reedy tune in the background, at once medieval and modern, like soft progressive jazz performed on recorders.
The duke seated Wiz on his left and Moira on his right.
"You seemed to have created an uncommon stir among the mortals," Aelric observed to Moira as they sat down.
"It was not intentional, Lord."
"And you were the object of a Grand Summoning," he said to Wiz.
"Yes, Lord. Uh, it wasn't my idea."
"No doubt," Aelric said equitably.
The elf duke was a perfect host, charming, gracious and witty. He made Moira laugh and dimple without arousing more than a twinge of jealousy in Wiz and contrived to make Wiz feel more at ease than he had since he arrived on this world. Only once did Moira bring the talk back to the circumstances which led them beneath the elf hill this night.
"Lord, why did you aid us?"