"Rawn, Melanie - Dragon Star 2 - Dragon Token" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

Thus had Rohan gleefully aided his sister's aim of capturing the Lord of Radzyn for her own. Chay could still see him, all golden hair and blue eyes and reckless energy, laughing as he hurtled past, his grin as wide as his twelve-year-old face.

Chay knew enough about grief to know that such memories would eventually make him smile. If he lived long enough.

"My lord? I'm to tell you that PrinceЧI mean, that the High Prince has returned."

Glancing around, Chay saw Rohan'sЧnow Pol'sЧ squire, Daniv of Syr. A ruling prince now himself, this war and his father Kostas' death in it had taken all his mother's gentleness from his face. Chay wondered if Danladi would even recognize her son in this grim-faced, stubble-chinned young warrior.

"Intact?" This from Tobin, who had tensed in Chay's embrace.

"Very much so, my lady. And victorious." "Fine," Chay rasped. "I want a little chat with his grace, Daniv. Lend me your horse."

Carefully descending from his saddle, he made sure his wife was steady in it before handing the reins to the young man. He mounted the other horse and cursed his bones for creaking. "Will you need a torch, my lord?" "I was threading this maze with my eyes closed thirty years before you were born. See to my wife's comfort, Daniv. I'll be back soon."

He found them easily. Running one scathing glance down Pol's bloody clothing, he muttered, "I see you took Maarken's advice, and enjoyed yourself." "Yes."

The word was both calm and fierce, reminding Chay of Rohan more than he was willing to admit. The jaw was longer and there was no cleft in the chin and the eyes were more green than blue right now, but Pol was his father's son.

And his mother's. And it was not Sioned Chay thought of at that moment.

Kazander filled up the silence in his own inimitable way. "Dread Lord of Radzyn, fifty of the barbarians watered the canyon of the Harps with their blood. To ward off what horrors might spring from such foulness, we piled them like empty sacks and burned them. This is what kept us so long, for which this wretched servant asks pardon."

Chay was in no mood for garlands of Isulki eloquence.

"I see," he said shortly. Then, relenting a little, he asked, "Did any of you take hurt?"

"Pinpricks," was the reply, with a shrug.

"Have them tended."

Kazander looked from him to Pol as if wondering whether they should be left alone in close proximity. But then he bowed and rode off, his troops with him.

"I owe Maarken a report," Pol said. "Where is he?"

"With his wife."

"As I ought to be with mine?" A sun-bleached brow arched in the tanned face that was so close an echo of his father's.

But not quite. Not quite. He never will be Rohan. I have to stop looking for what I've lost.

"You do as you likeЧHigh Prince." And for the first time since Roelstra's death, Chay used the title as an insult.

Pol exploded. "Damn you, what else can I do but fight when and how I can?"

"You can keep yourself aliveЧchances of which aren't improved by galloping around waving your sword!"

"My father's sword," Pol hissed. "This one, the very one he killed Roelstra withЧand then put away because he believed in peace. The Vellant'im don't share that belief, my lord! And I don't have the luxury."

Setting heels to his weary horse, he rode away. And as he passed among the straggling lines of refugees, Chay heard them say the name of their new High Prince with admiration and with pride.