"Dart-Thornton,.Cecilia.-.Bitterbynde.02.-.Lady.Of.The.Sorrows.V2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart-Thornton Cecilia)

"An interesting tale, even if you have left out part of it," Maeve commented. Her patient felt herself blush. Maeve's perceptiveness was disconcerting. "So now you still have three wishes, eh? Isn't that right? That's how it usually goesЧyan, tan, tethera. No, there is no need to reply. You wish for a history, a family, and something moreЧI see it in your eyes. Mark youЧremember the old saw, Be careful what you wish for, lestЧ"
"Lest what?"
"Lest it comes true."
The carlin completed a row of knitting and swapped the needles from hand to hand.
"Now listen," she continued. "I do not know who you are or how to get your memories back, but I do ken that this house, since five days ago, is being watched."
"Watched? What can you mean?"
"I mean, spied upon by spies who do not know they have been spied. And since they began their enterprise not long after you arrived, I deduce that it is you they are after. Nobody gets past my door without my allowing itЧthe world knows that. Therefore, these observers must be waiting for you to come out. What think you of that, eh? Are they friends of yours, wanting to protect you, or are they enemies?"
It was like a sudden dousing in icy water. All that had happened to Imrhien since her arrival at the carlin's house had driven out thoughts of pursuers. Now the recent past caught up with a jarring swiftness. These spies might be henchmen of the wizard, the slandered charlatan Korguth the JackalЧbut more likely they were Scalzo's men who had somehow tracked her down. She had been traced right to the carlin's door! If they had come this far, across Eldaraigne in search of her, or if they had sent word of her approach by Relayer to accomplices in Caermelor or even at the Crown and Lyon Inn, then it was obvious they were determined to catch her before she went to the King-Emperor explaining her detailed knowledge of Waterstair's location. Danger threatened. Desperate men might resort to desperate methods to prevent her from reaching the Royal City.
The carlin's eye was fixed intently upon her guest.
"How do you estimate these watchers? Take care with your reply. A false decision might bring disaster. What comes next depends on what you say now. Your tongue is new to you. Use it wisely."
"I think they are evil men," the girl replied slowly. "Men who wish me ill; brigands led by one called Scalzo, from Gilvaris Tarv, who slew my friends. They will try to stop me from reaching the Court."
"That may be the case. I am not in a position to judge. If 'tis true, then it is perilous for you to depart from here unprotected. With this in mind I have already asked my patient Whithiue to lend you her feather-cloak so that you might fly out in the guise of a swan and send the cloak back later. She would not hear of it of course but it was worth a tryЧshe and her clan owe me many favors. Yet I have another plan. If those who watch are your enemies, then they will know you chiefly by your hair and by your name. My advice is thisЧwhen you set out for the Royal City, go not as Imrhien Goldenhair. Go as another."
The needles clattered. A ball of yarn unrolled. The lizard watched it with the look of a beast born to hunt but restrained by overpowering ennui.
"Change my name?"
"Well, 'tis not your name, is it? 'Tis only a kenning given you. One kenning is as good as another. I'll think of something suitable to replace it, given time. But you cannot go to Court with that hair and not be noticed. By the Coillach, colleen, know you how rarely the Talith are seen? Only one of that kindred resides at CourtЧMaiwenna, a cousin of the long-defunct Royal Family of Avlantia. In all the lands, there are so few human beings of your coloring that they are always remarked upon. Feorhkind nobles can rinse their tresses in the concoctions of carlins and wizards and dye-mixers as often as they like, but they can never copy Talith gold. Their bleached heads are like clumps of dead grass. No, if you want to mingle unmarked, you must change the color of your hair as well as your kenning. And for good measure, go as a recently bereaved widow and keep that face covered."
"You know best," said Imrhien slowly in her whispering tones, "for I know nothing of the ways of the King-Emperor's Court. But who would recognize the face I wear now?"
"Folk from your past, haply."
"Then that would be wonderful! I should meet my own folk, discover all!"
"Not necessarily. Who left you to die in the rain in a patch of Hedera paradoxis? Not folk who were looking after your interests. Safer to remain unknown, at least until you have delivered your messages to the King-Emperor. And if you cannot tell His Majesty himself, why then you would be equally well-off to confide in Tamlain Conmor, the Dainnan Chieftain, or True Thomas Learmont, the Royal Bard. They are his most trusted advisers, and worthy of that trust, more so than any other men of Erith."
"If you manage to leave my cottage unmarked and reach the Court, you will likely be richly rewarded, you understand. Gold coins can buy security, or at least a measure of it. When all is done and your work discharged, then you shall have leisure to decide whether to doff the widow's veil and show yourself, and risk all that goes with being Imrhien of the Golden Hair."
"There is good sense in what you say," the girl admitted to the carlin.
"Of course there is. And if you had your wits about you, you'd have thought of it yourself, but I expect you've lost them in that glass. By the way, are you aware that you speak with a foreign accent?"
"Do I? I suppose it is Talith."
"No. It is like no dialect I have ever heard."
"Am I of the Faъran? It is said that they lived forever . . ."
The carlin cackled, true to type. "No, you certainly are not one of the Gentry. Not that I have ever set eyes on any of them, but there is naught of the power of gramarye in you. If there were, you would know it. You are as mortal as any bird or beast or lorraly folk. None of the Fair Folk would get themselves into such scrapes as you manage. And yet, your manner of speech is not of any of the kingdoms of Erith. Your accent's unfamiliar."
"The Ringstorm that encircles the world's rimЧdoes anything lie beyond it?"
"Let me tell you a little of the world. Some say that it is not a half-sphere but an entire orb with the Ringstorm around its waist dividing Erith from the northern half. That is why the world has two names; 'Erith' for the Known Lands, and 'Aia' for the three realms in one, which comprise the Known Lands, the unknown regions on the other side of the Ringstorm, and the Fair Realm. Of those three realms only Erith is open to us. Many folk have forgotten the Fair Realm. Some say it never existed at all. People believe what they can see. Furthermore, it is commonly held that nothing lies beyond the Ringstorm, that it marks the margins of the world, and if we were to pass further than that brink, we would fall into an abyss."
"Mayhap there is some path through the Ringstorm."
"Mayhap. Many have tried to find one. The shang winds and the world's storms are too much for any sea-craft. The Ringstorm's borders are decorated with broken Seaships."
"Mayhap there is a way through to Erith from the other side, from a land on the other side where they speak differently . . ."
"Too many 'mayhaps.' Let us to the business in hand."
"Yes! Madam Maeve, I am concerned for your safety. Should I depart hence under an assumed persona, the watchers will believe Imrhien Gold-Hair bides yet here, and they may keep watching for a time until they tire of it and assail your house."
"A good point." Maeve thoughtfully tapped her ear with a knitting needle. "Ah, but if they think they see Imrhien Goldenhair leaving and they follow her, then find out it was a ruse and rush back here and see no sign of her, they will think she escaped during their absence. In sooth, she will have. An excellent planЧnay, ask no questions, it will all be clear to you soon. Meanwhile, I had better rouse TomЧhe has errands to run for me in Caermelor. We shall need money to carry out this scheme. How much have you?"
"Madam, please accept my apologies. Your words remind me that I owe you payment for your healing of me, and my board and lodging. What is your fee?"
"My fee," said the carlin, shooting a piercing glance from her bright eye, "is whatever those who receive my services are prepared to give."
"What you have given me is valuable beyond measureЧworth more than all the treasure in the world."
"Have I given it, or was it already yours by right? Do not be thankful until you have lived with your changed appearance for a moon-cycle or two. See how you like it then."
"I cannot be otherwise than happy!"
"Ha! The measure of happiness is merely the difference between expectations and outcomes. It is not concerned with what one possessesЧit is concerned with how content one is with what one possesses."
Imrhien had taken out her leather pouch. The pearls she had left in Silken Janet's linen-chest, the ruby she had given to Diarmid and Muirne, but there remained two more jewels and the few gold coins she had saved when she ran from the caravan. In glittering array she spread the stones and metal before the carlin.
"This is all I have. Please, take it."
Maeve One-Eye threw her head back and laughed.
"My dear," she said, "you will never survive out in the wide wicked world if you do this sort of thing. Have you not heard of bargaining? Such an innocent. And how would you fare with no money to spend on your way to the City? This I shall take." She leaned forward and picked up the sapphire. "The mud from Mount Baelfire is costly to obtain. And blue is one of the colors of my fellowship, the Winter shade of high glaciers and cold water under the sky. Leave the emerald out of your purseЧit is of greater worth and will fetch a high price. It is necessary to sell it to pay for the purchases Tom shall make in Caermelor on your behalf. But put away the sovereigns and doubloons and the bit of silver. You may need them someday. And be more careful to whom you display your wealthЧfortunately, I can be trusted, but not all folk are as honest as Maeve One-Eye!"
Her thicket of albino hair bristled untidily, like a rook's nest in a frostЧher guest suspected that it was in fact inhabited by some pet animalЧand she leaned back in her chair, chuckling. The needles resumed their click-clack.
"True to Talith type, you possess the darker eyebrows and eyelashesЧthose I will not need to alter. What color of hair want you? Black? Brown?"
"Red."
"A canny choice. Nobody would ever believe that any clearheaded person would choose the Ertish shade, thus they will think that you soothly are of Finvarnan blood. I take it you will not mind being despised as a barbarian in Court circles?"
"I have had my fill of contempt! I have been despised enough for twenty lifetimes. Not red, then. What is the fashion for hair at Court?"
"Black, or straw-yellowЧsave for the salt-haired Icemen that dwell among them; their locks do not take kindly to dyes, nor do they wish to alter them, being a proud race."