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

"It seems I must choose black. But I will not stay long at CourtЧonly long enough to deliver my news, and then I will be away."
And long enough to find someone.
"Be not so certain. You may not obtain an audience with the King-Emperor straightaway. He is busy, especially at this time of strange unrest in the north. As an unknown, you will be seen as inconsequential enough to be kept waitingЧif necessary, for weeks, despite the fact that I am going to transform you into a lady of means for the mission. If you successfully reach Caermelor and then obtain permission to pass within the palace gates, you may have to wait for a long time. And if you are eventually granted an audience, the next step must be verification of your news. They may ask you to lead them to this treasure."
The carlin paused in her handiwork, holding it high for a better view. "Cast off, one plain, one purl," she muttered obliquely. With a thoughtful air, she lowered the needlework to her lap. "So. A name you will need." She hummed a little tune. "I've got it! 'Rohain.' A tad Severnessish-sounding, but it suits you. And you must say that you come from some remote and little-known place, so that there is small chance of meeting any person who hails from there and might betray you. The Sorrow Islands off Severnesse are such a placeЧmelancholy, avoided whenever possible. Tarrenys is an old family name from those parts. YesЧthat's it. Ha! Rohain Tarrenys you shall beЧsay farewell to Imrhien Goldenhair, Lady Rohain of the Sorrows."
"Am I to be a lady? I know nothing of the ways of gentlefolk. I shall be discovered."
"Methinks you underestimate your own shrewdness. Hearken. Should a peasant wife arrive at the palace with a story of discovering great wealth, that woman risks her life. There are those at Court who are not as scrupulous as the Dukes of Ercildoune and Roxburgh; those who would wish to take the credit to themselves for such a discovery, and to silence the real messenger. It is possible a commonwife would not be given the opportunity to speak with the Dukes before she was bundled off with a few pennies, maybe to be followed, waylaid, and murdered. Howbeit, a gentlewoman must be treated with greater scrupulosity."
"Who, at Court, could be so perfidious?"
"It will become clear to you," said Maeve briskly. She changed the subject. "Have you a potent tilhal for protection along the way?"
"I have a self-bored stone, given me by Ethlinn."
"A worthy talisman," said the carlin, examining the stone with a lopsided squint. "You might well have need of it. Many malign things wander abroad these days. Doubtless you have heardЧit is said that one of the brigand chieftains of Namarre has grown strong enough to muster wicked wights in his support. There is no denying that some kind of summons, inaudible to mortal ears, is issuing from that northern region. Unseelie wights are moving across the lands, responding to the Call. With an army of lawless barbarians, aided by unseelie hordes, a wizard powerful enough to summon wights would be an opponent to be reckoned with. They say such a force might stand a goodly chance of overthrowing the Empire and seizing power in Erith. If that should come to pass, all the lands would be plunged into chaos. It would mean the end of the long years of peace we have known."
A chill tremor tore through the listener.
"These are uneasy times," continued the carlin, with a shake of her head. "Even creatures who have not revealed themselves for many lifetimes of men have lately reemerged. It is not long since I heard a rumor that Yallery Brown has been seen again."
She returned the stone to its owner.
"What is that?" asked the girl, tucking the tilhal beneath her garments.
"Yallery Brown? One of the wickedest wights that ever was or isЧso wicked that it is dangerous even to befriend him. Have you not heard the old tale of cursed Harry Millbeck, the brother of the great-grandfather of the mayor of Rigspindle?"
"I have heard many tales, but not that. Pray tell it!"
"He was a farm laborer, was Harry," said Maeve. "On a Summer's evening long ago, he was walking home from work across fields and meadows all scattered with dandelions and daisies when he heard an anguished wailing like the cry of a forsaken child. He cast about for the source and at last discovered that it issued from underneath a large, flat stone, half-submerged under turf and matted weeds. This rock had a name in the district. For as long as anyone could remember, it had been called the Strangers' Stone, and folk used to avoid it."
"A terrible fear came over Harry. The wails, however, had dwindled to a pitiful whimpering and being a kindhearted man he could not steel himself to walk on without rendering aid to what might have been a child in distress. With great trouble, he managed to raise up the Strangers' Stone, and there beneath it was a small creature, no bigger than a young child. Yet it was no childЧrather it looked to be something old, far older than was natural, for it was all wizened, and its hair and beard were so long that it was all enmeshed in its own locks. Dandelion-yellow were the hair and whiskers, and soft as thistle-floss. The face, puckered as lava, was umber-brown, and from the midst of the creases a pair of clever eyes stared out like two black raisins. After its initial amazement at its release, this creature seemed greatly delighted.
"'Harry ye're a good lad,' it chirped."
"It knows my name! For certain this thing is a bogle, Harry thought to himself, and he touched his cap civilly, struggling to hide his terror."
"'Nay,' said the little thing instantly, 'I'm no bogle, but ye'd best not ask me what I be. Anyway, ye've done me a better service than ye know, and I be well-disposed towards ye.'"
"Harry shuddered, and his knees knocked when he found the eldritch thing could read his unspoken thoughts, but he mustered his courage."
"'And I now will give you a gift,' said the creature. 'What would you like: a strong and bonny wife or a crock full of gold coins?'"
"'I have little interest in either, your honor,' said Harry as politely as he could. 'But my back and shoulders are always aching. My labor on the farm is too heavy for me, and I'd thank you for help with it.'"
"'Now hearken you, never thank me,' said the little fellow with an ugly sneer. I'll do the work for you and welcome, but if you give me a word of thanks, you'll never get a hand's turn more from me. If you want me, just call "Yallery Brown, from out of the moots come to help me," and I'll be there.' And with that it picked the stalk of a dandelion puff, blew the fluffy seeds into Harry's eyes, and disappeared."
"In the morning Harry could no longer believe what he had seen and suspected he'd been dreaming. He walked to the farm as usual, but when he arrived, he found that his work had already been completed, and he had no need to lift so much as a finger. The same happened day after day; no matter how many tasks were set for Harry, Yallery Brown finished them in the blink of an eye."
"At first the lad augured his life would be as leisurely as a nobleman's, but after a time he saw that matters might not go so well for him, for although his tasks were done, all the other men's tasks were being undone and destroyed. After a while, some of his fellow laborers happened to spy Yallery Brown darting about the place at night and they accused Harry of summoning the wight. They made his life miserable with their blaming and their complaints to the master."
"'I'll put this to rights,' said Harry to himself. I'll do the work myself and not be indebted to Yallery Brown.'"
"But no matter how early he came to work, his tasks were always accomplished before he got there. Furthermore, no tool or implement would remain in his hand; the spade slipped from his grasp, the plough careered out of his reach, and the hoe eluded him. The other men would find Harry trying to do their work for them, but no matter how hard he tried he could not do it, for it would go awry, and they accused him of botching it deliberately."
"Finally, the men indicted him so often that the master dismissed him, and Harry plodded away in a high rage, fuming about how Yallery Brown had treated him. Word went around the district that Harry Millbeck was a troublemaker, and no farmer would hire him. Without a means of earning a living, Harry was in sore straits."
"'I'll get rid of this wicked wight,' he growled to himself, 'else I shall become a beggar on the streets.' So he went out into the fields and meadows and he called out, 'Yallery Brown, from out of the mools, come to me!'"
"The words were scarcely out of his mouth when something pinched his leg from behind, and there stood the little thing with its tormentil-yellow hair, its pleated brown face and its cunning raisin eyes. Pointing a finger at it, Harry cried, 'It's an ill turn you've done to me and no benefit. I'll thank you to go away and allow me to work for myself!'"
"At these words, Yallery Brown shrilled with laughter and piped up: 'Ye've thanked me, ye mortal fool! Ye've thanked me and I warned you not!'"
"Angrily, Harry burst out, 'I'll have no more to do with ye! Fine sort of help ye give. I'll have no more of it from this day on!'"
"'And ye'll get none,' said Yallery Brown, 'but if I can't help, I'll hinder.' It flung itself into a whirling, reeling dance around Harry, singing:
ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧ
Work as thou wilt, thou'lt never do well.
Work as thou mayst, thou'lt never gain grist;
For harm and mischance and Yallery Brown
Thou'st let out thyself from under the stone.
ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧ
"As it sang, it pirouetted. Its buttercup tresses and beard spun out all around until it resembled the spherical head of a giant dandelion that has gone to seed. This thistledown orb blew away, disappearing into the air, and Harry never again set eyes on Yallery Brown."
"But he was aware of the wight's malevolent presence for the rest of his life; he sensed it opposing him in everything to which he turned his hand. Forever after that, naught went aright for poor Harry Millbeck. No matter how hard he worked he couldn't profit by it, and ill-fortune was on whatever he touched. Until the day of his death Yallery Brown never stopped troubling him, and in his skull the wight's song went ceaselessly round and round, '. . . for harm and mischance and Yallery Brown thou'st let out thyself from under the stone.'"
"That's a terrible injustice!" cried the listening girl.
"Aye," said Maeve, "That's the way of unseelie wights and that one is among the wickedest."
ЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧЧЧЧл╗ЧЧЧ
The carlin gave detailed instructions to Tom Coppins, who went off to Caermelor on a pony and returned three days later laden with parcels.
"What took you so long?" Maeve said impatiently.
"I was bargaining."
"Hmph. I hope you got the better of those rapscallion merchants. How much got you for the emerald?"