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

"Only while I'm doing it. When the fighting's over and my blood cools, I feelЧRiyan," he blurted out, "I'm a fraud. An imposter. And I don't know why it should matter, because it's been that way all my life. But every time anyone says 'my lord' in the voice that really means 'High Prince,' I expect to hear him answer. I'm pretending to be what he was, doing what I think he'd do."

"Why not do what you believe is right?"

"I did. Yesterday," he replied bleakly. "I don't want to be good at killing. What scares me is that I think it's what I might be best at."

Rohan had said the same thing, jeering at him. "Perhaps you're the right man for the work after all. Perhaps only a barbarian can defeat barbarians. Take heart, Pol. If I die somewhere along the way, you'll be High Prince

and get your chance to play the warrior. You ought to do very well. You seem to have all the right instincts."

And yet, who had been his pattern for what he had done? None other than his elegant, educated, civilized father. In 704, Merida had attacked Stronghold. Rohan had ordered the right hand of every prisoner cut offЧ and hadn't even had compassion enough to cauterize the wounds. . . .

Riyan's voice, deliberately harsh, interrupted his thoughts. "Maarken isn't here, so it's left to me. Stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself! If all this wounds your tender sensibilities, so much the better."

"What do you care? AH you have to do is what I tell you. I'm the one who has to decide."

"So the lowly athri can't possibly understand the mighty High Prince?" Dark eyes glittered dangerously. "You whining, self-righteousЧ"

"Stop it, Riyan!"

"Didn't you learn anything from Rohan? It's when war starts to feel good that you've got something to worry about!"

"Then start worrying," he snarled. "I loved it and I can't wait to do it again!" He dug his heels into his stallion's ribs and galloped ahead, where the lengthening afternoon shadows could hide him.

*

"You got him! You got him!"

Isriam staggered carefully amid a swarm of children and wished Princess Jihan wasn't such a stickler for realism. Even on his best days he tended to a few awkward bumpsЧhis ever-lengthening limbs would get in the way of every table and chair and doorway at FerucheЧso he was used to bruises. But Jihan would complain if the fall wasn't a good one, and there was nothing soft in the kitchen garden but turned vegetable beds. Resigned to more bruises and a great deal of dirt, he toppled with what he hoped was true artistry, bracing himself with one "wing," and let out a piteous moan.

Instantly a dozen children climbed all over him, giggling and tickling. Lady Maara then called victory, and he was helped to his feet by the solicitous royal hands of Princess Rislyn, who asked if he was all right.

"Your poor, defeated dragon is just fine, your grace," he replied. Brushing himself off, he smiled down at her and wished his parents had seen fit to give him a little sister or two. In this castle that some days resembled a minor riot held at hip-height, he was discovering that he liked playing big brother.

Lord Chaynal had been apologetic when assigning Is-riam to ride herd on the children. "It's scarcely the kind of duty a squire dreams of, especially one at the court of the High Prince."

"Oh no, my lord, I like it. I want a big familyЧand it wouldn't do to have Daniv playing nursemaid. Not a Prince of Syr."

So Daniv had stayed at Skybowl to command troops as befitted his lofty stationЧunder the guidance and protection of Lord Walvis and Lord Sethric. Isriam did not envy his friend in the least. He'd had enough of battle. It was a relief to be given charge with Lady Betheyn of the refugees from Dorval. He had quickly learned that although the children were fun and not all that much trouble, he had no patience with their elders. He loathed bad manners. Betheyn took care of the parents; he saw to the children; and if patrols hadn't regularly ridden in and out of Feruche, he could have sworn this was merely a castle with an overpopulation problem and there was no war at all.

Of course, the journey to Chaldona would be another matter entirely. He would have chances enough to use his training to keep the Dorvali together and moving. His was the command of the accompanying troops, and his orders would supersede even Betheyn's. Isriam knew he could do it, and do it well, but he was just as happy to be distracting the children while their elders packed for the evening departure.

Hungry after their fifth dragon slaying, the children invaded the kitchens. Isriam groaned inwardly when

sweets were distributed by indulgent servants. So much for any hope of settling the mob to naps.

Suddenly a wave of silence passed over them, and every single head bowed in the direction of the door. Isriam turned. High Princess Sioned paused at the lintel, blinking at a quiet unnatural in a kitchen full of children. She swayed slightly, and for a moment she almost looked like PrincessЧHigh PrincessЧMeiglan, tense with apprehension at what all these people might expect of her.

Isriam had lived at Stronghold since 733, when he'd come as a squire at the age of twelve. Her grace's capacity was legendary. He had seen her drink her husband, Lord Chaynal, and Lord Maarken under the table and not bat an eyelash.