"Deborah Doyle - Circle of Magic 02 - The Secret of The Tower" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Debra)

word on this as well. You'll be wearing my colors, riding my spare horse, helping me arm and seeing to
my needs-which means you'll be a squire in truth-if you haven't forgotten how."
"I remember," said Randal with a sigh.
"Fine," said Walter. He blew out the candle, leaving the room dark except for a scrap of moonlight
slipping through a chink in the shutters. "Then good night, and wake me in the morning."
The rooster in the inn yard started crowing before the sun rose. Randal got up in the pale gray light of
false dawn and dressed himself in his cousin's spare surcoat, and then awakened Walter just as the sun
came up.
"Well, squire," said Walter as he belted on his sword, "we're off for the road." He smiled at Randal. "I tell
you, it's good to have a familiar face beside me again."
"Let's hope it's not too familiar," said Randal. "Sir Reginald won't be pleased with you if he recognizes
me."
"Leave Sir Reginald to me," said Walter. "Just do your work and stay out of his way."
But in spite of Randal's fears, none of the knights who gathered in the common room downstairs-Sir
Philip, Sir Louis, or Sir Reginald-gave any sign of recognizing him.
By daylight, the three looked ordinary enough, nothing like the shadowy figures who had knocked him
about the night before. Sir Philip, the youngest of the three, had a look of reckless enthusiasm about him.
All action, judged Randal, and no thought.
Sir Louis was the oldest, round-faced and heavyset; by the time he reached middle age, he would be fat.
Sir Reginald, who'd started the ugly sport, was the tallest and strongest. In a fair fight, Randal thought, he
might come close to being a match for Walter.
None of the knights paid any attention to Randal's cut cheek or to the bruises along his jawbone. Instead,
they greeted Walter and ignored Randal a squire, like any servant, was just a part of the landscape.
All five members of the little party soon mounted and rode into the early morning. The sun shone out of a
clear summer sky, drying the dew from the grass and from the damp brown dirt of the narrow road. In
the foothills of the eastern mountains, however, the air never grew too warm for comfort. A cool breeze
blew down from the high ground, ruffling the hair of the riders and making a stirring sound among the
trees.
Randal hadn't ridden on horseback for over three years. He'd left Castle Doun on foot, and had traveled
on foot ever since. He knew that he couldn't have handled the big, heavily muscled warhorse that his
cousin Walter rode.
Fortunately, Walter's other horse was a palfrey-a smaller, gentler-tempered animal, trained for endurance
and smoothness of gait, not for going into battle. Randal found that what his mind had forgotten about
good horsemanship learned in boyhood, his body remembered. He soon accustomed himself to the
palfrey's ambling pace, and settled back to enjoy a pleasant morning's ride.
He told himself that the sun was bright, that his cousin's company was a welcome surprise, that by
traveling on horseback he was certain to reach Balpesh-and his own magic-that much sooner.
After a while Walter dropped back from the company of the other three knights and rode beside him.
"You're awfully quiet this morning," Walter said after a few minutes. "Is something wrong? It's a beautiful
day."
"I know," said Randal. "It's just-I can't explain."
Walter gave him a curious look. "You've been saying that a lot recently."
Randal shrugged. "Life's more complicated than I used to think it was."
"Something else you learned in Tarnsberg?" The half-teasing question hit harder than Walter had
probably intended. Randal thought of Laerg, who had looked like every apprentice's ideal of a master
wizard, but who had nearly brought down the entire Schola with his wickedness.
He looked over at his cousin. "Yes," he said, without smiling. "You could say I learned it there."
Walter gave up trying to jolly him out of his bad humor after that. Shortly after noon, the party overtook a
solitary knight also heading toward Tattinham. When they had drawn close enough to see the device
emblazoned on the rider's shield, Walter spurred his warhorse forward with a shout.