"Raymond E. Feist - Conclave of Shadows 3 - Exile's Return" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

He grabbed the boy's wrist and twisted, causing the youngster to shout as he let
go of the skillet. 'Now stop it!' Kaspar yelled.
He drew his sword and pointed it at the woman. The boy froze, his face a mask
of terror.
'All right, then,' he said, still speaking Quegan. 'One more time: I am not going to
hurt you.' He then made a show of putting away his sword. He moved past the woman
and picked up the crossbow. He handed it to the boy. 'Here, lad, go find the bolt
outside and see if you can manage to crank it up. If you must kill me, feel free to try
again.'
He pulled the woman to her feet and studied her. She was rawboned, but he
could see she had been pretty once, before a hard life had aged her. He couldn't tell if
she was thirty or forty years of age, her face being burned to brown leather by the sun.
But her eyes were vivid blue and she held her fear in check. Softly he said, 'Fetch
me food, woman.' Then he let her go.
The boy stood motionless, holding the crossbow as Kaspar looked around. There
was only one room in this hovel, but a curtain had been hung so the woman had a bit
of privacy when she slept. Her sleeping pallet and a small chest could be glimpsed
from where he sat. Another pallet was rolled up under a single table. There were two
stools. A makeshift cupboard sat next to an open hearth upon which there sat a kettle
of simmering stew. An oven below it had just produced bread, and Kaspar reached
down and grabbed one of the still-warm loaves. He tore off some of the bread and
stuffed it into his mouth. Then he sat down on one of the stools. He looked at his
unwilling hostess and said, 'Sorry to be such a boor, but I prefer ill manners to
starvation.'
As the flavor of the bread registered, he smiled. 'This is very good.' He motioned
to the stew pot and said, 'I'll have some of that.'
The woman hesitated, then moved to the hearth. She ladled some of the stew into
a bowl and placed it before Kaspar, then handed him a wooden spoon. He nodded and
said, 'Thank you.'
She stepped away, gathering the boy to her side. Kaspar ate the stew and before
asking for another bowl, he looked at the motionless pair. Quegan didn't seem to be
working, but it was the closest language to what he had heard the nomads speak. He
pointed to himself and said, 'Kaspar.'
The woman didn't react. Then he pointed to them and said, 'Names?'
The woman might be frightened, he thought, but she wasn't stupid. She said,
'Jojanna.'
'Joyanna,' Kaspar repeated.
She corrected him. 'Jojanna,' and he heard the soft sound of an 'h' after the 'y'
sound.
'Joy-hanna,' he said, and she nodded as if that were close enough.
He pointed to the boy.
'Jorgen,' came the reply.
Kaspar nodded and repeated the boy's name. He started to help himself to more
stew and judged he had consumed most of their evening meal. He looked at them and
then poured the content of the bowl back into the pot. He contented himself with
another hunk of bread, then pointed to them. 'Eat.' He motioned for them to come to
the table.
'Eat,' she repeated, and Kaspar realized it was the same word, but with a very
different accent. He nodded.
She carefully ushered the boy to the table and Kaspar got up and moved over to