"Kerr, Katharine - Deverry 01 - Daggerspell v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

УTrue enough.Ф Galrion was remembering his dweomer-warning of DwenТs coming death. УHeТll be the Falcon someday, after all. Is there any woman he favors?Ф
УNot truly. You men can be such beasts.Ф Brangwen giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. УBut well, Gerro rides to hunt with Lord Blaen of the Boar, and his sisterТs just absolutely mad for Gerro. IТve been trying to speak well of her to him, but he doesnТt much listen.Ф
УIТve seen the Lady Ysolla at court. SheТs a lovely lass, but nothing compared to you, of course.Ф
The compliment brought another giggle and a blush. At times Brangwen was a helpless little thing, unlike the women at the court, who were trained as partners in rulership. Once Galrion had looked forward to the chance to prune and form his wifeТs character; now, he found himself thinking that she was going to take an awful lot of his time.
УDo you know what Ysolla told me?Ф Brangwen said. УShe said that BlaenТs jealous of you.Ф
УIndeed? That could be a serious matter if itТs true.Ф
УWhy?Ф
УYe gods, think! The Boar Rampant was involved in many a plot against the last dynasty. A little loverТs rivalry is a political matter when one of the rivals is a prince.Ф
УTruly. My apologies.Ф
She was so woebegone about being snapped at that Galrion patted her hand. She bloomed instantly and bent down to allow him to kiss her cheek.
Circumstances conspired to keep the prince from having his necessary talk with his betrothed. All evening, Gerraent kept them sullen company. On the bright and sunny morrow, Brangwen settled her father outside in the ward, then sat down beside him with her needlework. Much to GalrionТs annoyance, the old man stayed wide awake. Finally, when Gerraent stopped by on his way to hunt, Galrion decided that since he might soon be GerraentТs elder brother, he might as well put that authority to good use.
УHere, Gerro,Ф Galrion said. УIТll ride a little way with you after all.Ф
УWell and good.Ф Gerraent shot him a glance that said the exact opposite. УPage, run and saddle the princeТs horse.Ф
Preceded by a pack of hounds and followed by a pair of servants, Galrion and Gerraent rode to the forest. The Falcon clan lay lonely on the edge of the kingdom. To the north, the clanТs farmlands stretched out until they met those of the Boar, their only near neighbor. To the east and south was nothing but unclaimed land, meadow and primeval forest. It occurred to Galrion that Brangwen was doubtless looking forward to the splendid life at court that he could no longer give her.
УWell, young brother,Ф Galrion said at last. УThereТs something I wanted to talk with you about. My lady Brangwen tells me that youТve won the favor of Ysolla of the Boar. SheТd make any man a fine wife.Ф
Gerraent stared straight ahead at the road.
УYouТre nineteen,Ф Galrion said. УItТs time you married for your clanТs sake. The head of a clan needs heirs.Ф
УTrue spoken. I know my duty to my clan.Ф
УWell then? BlaenТs your sworn friend. It would be a fine match.Ф
УDid Gwennie put you up to this talk?Ф
УShe did.Ф
Gerraent glanced his way with bitter eyes.
УMy sister knows her duty to the clan, too,Ф Gerraent said.
As they rode on, Gerraent was lost in thought, his hand on his sword hilt. Galrion wondered how this brooding proud man was going to take it when Galrion swept his sister off to a hut in the forest instead of the palace. The prince was vexed all over again at his stupidity in getting himself betrothed just as he had found the dweomer.
УDoes Gwennie think Ysolla would have me?Ф Gerraent said.
УShe does. SheТd bring a fine dowry, too.Ф
They rode in silence for some minutes while Gerraent considered, his mouth working this way and that as if the thought of marrying a rich, pretty wife pained him. Finally he shrugged as if throwing off a weight from his shoulders.
УGrant me a boon, elder brother,Ф Gerraent said. УWill you ride to Blaen with me as my second in the betrothal?Ф
УGladly. Shall we ride soon?Ф
УWhy not? The soonest done, the best.Ф
That evening the dinner was a celebration. While the FalconТs demesne stretched broad and prosperous, there had been few sons born to the clan over the past generations. If Gerraent should die without an heir, the clan would die with him, its lands reverting back to the High King for reassignment. Every now and then, Galrion noticed Gerraent looking at the blade of his table dagger, where a falcon mark was graved, the clanТs symbol, and his whole life, his duty and power. Galrion knew that Gerraent must be thinking of his duty to preserve the clan every time he turned his brooding eyes to the dagger.
After Brangwen escorted her father from the table, Galrion had a chance at a private word with Gerraent.
УMy lady Brangwen was teasing me the other night,Ф
Galrion said. УSaying BlaenТs jealous of me. Is that just a maidТs chatter?Ф
УItТs true enough.Ф Gerraent made the admission unwillingly. УBut sheТs dwelling on the thing to please her vanity. Blaen will forget her soon enough. Men in our position marry where we have to, not to please ourselves.Ф
At the bitterness in his voice, Galrion felt a cold touch like a hand down his back, the dweomer-warning of danger. Never had that warning failed to be true, not since heТd felt it first as a little lad, climbing a tree and knowing without knowing how he knew that the branch was about to break under him.
The dun of the Boar clan lay a full dayТs ride to the north. A stone broch rose three floors above a cobbled ward and proper wooden round houses for the important servants. Off to one side were the stables that also doubled as a barracks for the warband of twelve men. Lord BlaenТs great hall was fully forty feet across with a dressed stone floor. Two tapestries hung on either side of the honor hearth, and fine furniture stood around in profusion. As he walked in, Galrion had the thought that Brangwen would be far happier in that dun than she would be in a wilderness.
Blaen himself greeted them and took them to the table of honor. He was a slender man, sandy-haired and with pleasant blue eyes that always seemed to be smiling at a jest, and good-looking in a rather bland way.
УGood morrow, my prince,Ф Blaen said. УWhat brings me the honor of having you in my hall?Ф
УMy brother and I have come to beg an enormous favor,Ф Galrion said. УMy brother has decided that itТs time for him to marry.Ф
УOh, have you now?Ф Blaen shot Gerraent a smile. УA wise decision, with no heirs for ytfur clan.Ф
УIf itТs so wise,Ф Gerraent snapped. УWhy havenТt you made one like it?Ф
Blaen went as stiff as a stag who sees the hunting pack.
УI have two brothers,Ф Blaen said levelly.
The moment hung there. Gerraent stared into the hearth; Blaen stared at the prince; Galrion hardly knew where to look.
УAh by the hells,Ф Blaen said. УCanТt we dispense with all this mincing around? Gerro, do you want my sister or not?Ф
УI do.Ф Gerraent forced out a smile. УAnd my apologies.Ф
When Galrion let his eyes meet BlaenТs, he saw only a man who wanted to be his friendЧagainst great odds, perhaps, but he did. Yet the dweomer-warning slid down his back like snow.
In his role as a courting manТs second, Galrion went to the womanТs hall, a pleasant half-round of a room on the second floor of the broch. On the floor were Bardek carpets in the clan colors of blue, green, and gold; silver candlesticks stood on an elaborately carved table. In a cushioned chair, Rodda, dowager of the clan, sat by the windows while Ysolla perched on a footstool at her motherТs side. All around them were wisps of wool from the spinning that had been hastily tidied away at the princeТs approach. Rodda was a stout woman with deep-set gray eyes and a firm but pleasant little smile; Galrion had always liked her when theyТd met at court. Ysolla was a pretty lass of sixteen, all slender and golden with large eager eyes.
УI come as a supplicant, my lady,Ф Galrion said, kneeling before the two women. УLord Gerraent of the Falcon would have the Lady Ysolla marry him.Ф