"01 - Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moonshae)

"Aye. If only his master were half as adept," muttered Arlen to everyone's amusement except Tristan's.
Indeed, Canthus had adapted well to life at Caer Corwell. In less than two weeks, the dog had learned all the hand commands Daryth used to direct him.
He ran faster and leaped higher than any dog the prince, or Daryth, had ever seen. When Canthus first joined the hounds of Tristan's pack, there had been a brief, snarling showdown with Angus. The old dog had blustered and bristled, but sensibly backed down as Canthus had pressed, almost gently, against Angus's skinny neck. Since that moment, Canthus had been the leader.
"When will you take him on a true hunt?" asked the halfling. "I hope you're not going to wait until you learn to shoot - a dog's life is short!"
Again his companions had a laugh at his expense, and Tristan felt his face redden. "Indeed not," he replied. "We've talked of an outing to Llaryth Forest next week."
"Splendid!" announced Pawldo. "I'm growing bored of Lowhill - though Allian's company is sweet, I admit. I could use a stint in the forest. To the hunt!
When do we leave?"
"We'll have to speak to my father," Tristan replied.
"But soon enough, I'm sure."
"Great!" Daryth exclaimed. "I'm eager to see a little more of this island of yours!" Tristan noticed that the Calishite's accent grew less noticeable almost daily.
"I shall come, too," announced Robyn.
The prince looked up in surprise. "But you've always hated hunting..." he began.
"And so I do," she replied. "Yet there are some types of fungus that I wish to collect this year, and they can be found nowhere on Gwynneth outside of Llyrath. I shall ignore the senseless slaying that you will no doubt commit... unless, of course, you'd rather I went by myself."
"Certainly not!" exclaimed Arlen and Tristan at the same time.
Daryth raised his eyebrows. "What is this Llyrath Forest place? Some kind of deathtrap?"
"No," said Tristan, laughing. "But it is the wildest part of the kingdom. We might meet wild boar or even bear - there are few human residents."
Tristan turned to Robyn. "And I'd like it if you come with us - I was just thinking you wouldn't enjoy it. That's all."
"If you're certain I won't be too much in the way," she declared, frostily.
In fact, Tristan knew Robyn's woodcraft to be superior to his own. Arlen had given him considerable training in the ways of the wild, but Robyn seemed to have an uncanny rapport with it.
"It's settled then!" she cried. "Let's leave tomorrow!"
"How long will it take us to get there?" asked Daryth.
"Just a couple of days, though we'll want to spend some time in the forest. How long should we figure?" the prince asked Arlen.
"Let's plan for ten days. Can we be ready by tomorrow?"
"You'll come with us, of course, Pawldo?" asked the prince. When the halfling nodded happily, Tristan said, "The five of us then!" The group started back toward the castle. "We'll take ten horses - I'll get them from the stables."
"I'll collect sleeping furs and a cookpot," offered Robyn.
Pawldo and Arlen agreed to pack some spare food, in case the hunting was poor, and Daryth would gather the hounds. By the time they reached the castle, the expedition was planned, to depart at dawn.
The group separated at the castle, each going to begin preparations.
Tristan entered the great hall and found his father sitting alone by the embers of a dying fire. He didn't look up as the prince entered. The shutters of the long windows were open, but the room still seemed to harbor a deep, disturbing chill.
"Father, we're going on a hunt - to Llyrath Forest." In silent anger, Tristan cursed the nervousness that always crept into his voice when he talked to his father. "Arlen will accompany us. We'll be gone ten days - perhaps a fortnight."
For a minute, the prince wondered if his father had heard him, for the king displayed no reaction. Finally, the king turned and regarded his son coldly.
"You might as well," King Kendrick declared, his voice heavy with scorn. "It beats wenching and drinking - things I've heard from others that you do so well. You are a disgrace to the crown!"
"What ?" Tristan stopped, cut off by his father's look of disgust. Whatever the prince said now would just inflame his father's anger, he knew.
"Leave me!" growled the king, turning back to the fire.
Suppressing an urge to scream and stomp his feet at once again failing to impress his father, the Prince of Corwell turned and walked, seething, from the hall. As always, he immediately converted his anger into a desire to rush out and have some fun, so he hurried about his preparations for the hunt.
The companions left Caer Corwell before dawn, which spread gray and oppressive from the east. Bundled in woolen cloaks and furs, they led their horses from the castle stable, mounting saddles and supplies on the various steeds. Pawldo, who chose a small, shaggy pony, had to chase his reluctant steed around the courtyard before he could saddle it.
The sunrise brought little warmth, for low clouds hung oppressively over the land. The peaks of the Highlands were buried within the gray blanket, and a penetrating mist hung heavily in the air. The party rode southwest, along the road to Cantrev Dynnatt, for most of the day.
They talked little. Tristan felt a personal gray cloud hanging over his head, following his father's rebuke. In addition, he sensed a remote but forbidding sense of menace in the gray day. For a moment, he recalled the druid's prophecy at the spring festival.
Robyn, too, seemed lost in thought. Every so often, she would start abruptly, and peer into the gray, misty distance. As if expecting to see something. Then she would slump again in the saddle, staring at the gray mane before her.
Arlen rode ahead, naturally assuming the role of the prince's bodyguard. He and Tristan accepted this as normal, and the prince barely noticed the old soldier, riding slowly along ahead of them. Only Daryth and Pawldo seemed inclined to talk, and the two quietly rode at the rear of the group, exchanging boasts and stories. The dogs paced along, not interested in running.
At dusk, they arrived at Dynnatt, a small farming community, and found shelter at a cozy inn. In the morning, they would strike southward into the forest, and then turn east. The terrain was rugged, and the tracks were few, so the companions realized that it would probably be several days before they again slept with a roof over their heads.
"Here, have the good table," wheezed the old innkeeper, hobbling toward a large oaken table before a friendly fire. "Haven't had many visitors this spring - you'll probably have the place to yourselves tonight."
Tristan had never visited this inn before, and the innkeeper made no sign that he recognized the prince. Clad as he was in plain hunting garb, he felt no desire to call attention to his rank.
They sat down, grateful to escape the damp and cool mist. After several tankards of ale and some tender venison, the prince felt his spirits lifting.
"What business brings you through Dynnatt?" grunted the proprietor, as he cleared away the dirty dishes.
"A hunt!" declared Tristan, raising his mug. "The deer in Llyrath Forest have had their last good night's sleep for the next week!"
"The hunting ground is not safe," muttered the old man. "This is not a time to be abroad in Llyrath."
Tristan started to laugh at the old man's warning, but Arlen held up a cautioning hand. "What do ye mean? What have ye seen?"
"Seen? I've seen nothing, but I've heard tales. All winter there's been sheep disappearing in the place. And more than one shepherd has gone in there alooking for his flock, and never come out again!"
"Surely, old man, you talk like a woman!" objected the prince. "There'll be nothing in the forest to offer a threat to a well-armed band of hunters!"
The old man shrugged, said "So you say, sir," and turned away. Robyn flashed Tristan an angry look, and he felt a moment of guilt. He should not have insulted the innkeeper, he knew. Why did this foolish sense of bravado impel him to make himself look foolish?