"Kerr, Katharine - Deverry 04 - Dragonspell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

СNone, my lord. Er, ah, well, is that all right?Т
СItТs a very good sign, actually. Will you stop cowering and snivelling like a wretched field mouse? IТm not going to hurt you.Т
СBut when are they going to come to... er, you know. . . hang me?Т
СNot until I tell them to, and if you do exactly as I say, they may not hang you at all.Т
Perryn arranged a totally unconvinced smile.
СI see you ate a good dinner. Do you feel like getting up and getting dressed?Т
СWhatever you say, my lord.Т
СI want to know how you feel.Т
СWell enough, then.Т Perryn threw back the covers and swung himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. In his long white night-shirt he looked like some impossibly awkward stork. СEr, ah, IТm a bit light-headed.Т
СThatТs to be expected. Elaeno, hand him his clothes, will you?Т
Once Perryn was dressed Nevyn sat him down in a chair right by the charcoal brazier, which was heaped with glowing coals. HeТd brought with him a small cloth sack filled with chips of cedar, juniper, and a strange Bardek wood with a sweet but clean scent called sandalwood. Casually he strewed the chips over the coals, where they began to smoke in a concatenation of scent.
СJust somewhat to cleanse the stale humours from the air,Т Nevyn said, lying cheerfully. СAh, weТve got some good coals. I always like to look into a fire. It always seems that you can see pictures in the coals, doesnТt it?Т
СSo it does.Т Automatically Perryn looked at the lambent flames and the gold-and-ruby palaces among the heaped-up sticks and knobs. СWhen I was a lad I used to see dragons crawling in the fire. My Mam had lots of tales about dragons and elves and suchlike. I used to wish they were real.Т
СIt would be pretty, truly.Т
Nodding a little, Perryn stared into the brazier while the sweet smoke drifted lazily into the room. When Nevyn opened up the second sight, he noted with a certain professional pleasure that the ladТs aura had expanded to normal from the shrunken size it had been during his illness. The Seven Stars were glowing brightly, but they were all oddly coloured and slightly displaced from their proper positions. Nevyn sent a line of light from his own aura to the Star that drifted over PerrynТs forehead and made it swirl, slapping it like a child lashes a top with a whip.
СYou see pictures in the coals now, donТt you, lad?Т Nevyn whispered. СTell me what you see. Tell me everything you see.Т
СJust a fire. A leaping fire.Т Perryn sounded as if he were drunk. СBig logs. It must be winter.Т
СWhoТs nearby? WhoТs sitting at the hearth?Т
СMam and Da. Mam looks so pale. SheТs not going to die, is she?Т
СHow old are you?Т
СFour. She is going to die. I heard Uncle Benoic yelling at the herbman last night. I donТt want to go live with him.Т
Then go back, go back to the fall of the year. Do you see your Mam? Is she better?Т
СShe is.Т
СThen go back, go back further, to the spring.Т
СI see the meadow, and the deer. The hunters are coming. IТve got to help them, warn them.Т
The hunters?Т
The stag. HeТs my friend.Т
In his trance Perryn twitched, his mouth working, as he went running into that meadow of memory and chased the deer away before the hunters came. Nevyn supposed that his childish mercy had cost the little lad a good beating, too. He took him back further, to the winter before, and back again until Perryn saw the face of his wet nurse as she held him to her breast for the first time. And back further, to the pain of his birth, and back yet more, as his soul was swept into the unborn body that grew into the one he now wore, and back and back, until all at once he cried out, twisting in pain, speaking, half-choked, in some language that Nevyn had never heard before.
СBy every god!Т Elaeno hissed. СWhat is that tongue?Т
Nevyn held up his hand for silence. Perryn talked on, his voice gasping as he relived his last death. Even though his facial features had changed not a jot, he no longer looked like the weaselly lad he had moments before - stronger, somehow, his eyes blazing in an ancient hatred as he spat out angry words. At the end his body jerked, half-rising from the chair, then falling back as his voice broke off. Nevyn caught him by the shoulders and shook him, but gently, calling out his name until he awakened.
СMy apologies,Т Perryn stammered. СI must have fallen asleep or suchlike, looking at the fire. Ye gods, that was a miserable dream.Т
СIndeed? Tell me about it.Т
СI was skewered. A spear, you see, right through me, pinning me to the ground, and there were enemies, mocking me. Horrible, horrible enemies, like goblins or suchlike.Т He let his voice fade to a whisper. СThey had these big noses and bushy eyebrows, all black and bristly.Т Suddenly he shook himself. СI must have been remembering one of those tales my Mam used to tell me.Т
СMost like, most like. Here, lad, I must have pushed you too hard. You go back to bed now and rest. WeТll try sitting up again tomorrow.Т
Once they had Perryn settled and the guard back at the door, Nevyn and Elaeno returned to the old manТs chamber in the main broch. They sat down with a tankard of mulled ale each to discuss what theyТd witnessed.
СI suppose his killers look ugly to him now because heТs grown used to human beings,Т Elaeno said.
СOho! YouТre assuming that those beings were his own kind of people.Т
СArenТt you?Т
СIТm tempted, truly, but 1 also think that itТs very unwise to make any assumptions about Perryn at all.Т
СNow there IТd most certainly agree with you. Huh. Big noses and bristling black eyebrows. I suppose they could be the goblins or ogres of many an old tale, either from the islands or your kingdom. Odd, how our folk stories do seem to be pretty much alike, with sorcerers, dragons, and some sort of evil ugly being.Т
СExcept this isnТt a tale, but a memory.Т
СTrue.Т Elaeno had a thoughtful sip of his ale from the tankard cradled in his enormous hands. СWell, if they werenТt his people, then heТs from some race or other that lives near our big-nosed friends.Т
СWhat is clear is that he died violently and in anger and hatred. It might be enough to make his spirit flee at the death moment and stray far enough away to get caught up in the wrong sort of birth vortex.Т
СSo it seems. And it was his ill-luck that the womb that caught him was kin to Tieryn Benoic.Т
СWho by all accounts was the last man in the kingdom to understand what a strange fish his wifeТs sister had netted.Т Nevyn shook his head in bafflement. СWell, when heТs stronger weТll try the fire-vision again, but I think me weТd better wait some days.Т
СHe couldnТt take the strain right now, truly. How goes the other hunt?Т
СFor our murdering troublemaker? Very badly indeed. For a while there I thought I was on his trail, but heТs disappeared. The stinking gall of him, trying to attack the child! If I get my claws into him, IТll tear him limb from limb, I swear it.Т
СHe doubtless knows it, too. Once he realized that you were looking for him, he probably ran off somewhere to hide.Т Elaeno considered the problem for a moment. СWell, maybe if heТs properly scared, heТll leave us alone.Т
СAlways full of hope and raw optimism, arenТt you? No doubt heТll lie quiet for a while, but heТll come back. His kind always does, like a witchТs curse.Т
After being in attendance on the King for two long months, both pleading his cousin RhodryТs cause and tending to business of his own, Blaen, Gwerbret Cwm Peel, was profoundly relieved to ride home to his own city of Dun Hiraedd. With the fall harvest his taxes were coming in, and he spent a pleasurable pair of days playing the role of the rough country lord, standing round his ward with the chamberlain and bailiffs and counting up the pigs and chickens, cheeses and barrels of apples, sacks of flour (both white and barley,) tuns of mead and ale, as well as the occasional hard coin that was his due. He had a private word or a jest for every man who came to deliver his taxes, whether he was a lordТs chamberlain riding ahead of a pair of laden ox-carts or a local farmer carrying a wicker cage of rabbits on his back and a sack of flour in his arms.