"Kate Forsyth - Eileanan 03 - The Cursed Towers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forsyth Kate)

"Come watch the jongleurs sing for ye and play;

Let us chase the winter miseries away.

We'll sing for ye tunes both wistful and gay,

Amuse ye, enthrall ye and lead ye astray!"



The doors of the Glenmorven Inn swung open, and curious faces peered out. Children tumbled out of the
cottages, followed by their bright-eyed mothers, while the few merchants still packing up their stalls
glanced up in interest. The innkeeper beckoned the jongleurs in with a broad grin splitting his bearded
face. His tavern would be packed to the rafters tonight with such a large troupe!

Iain helped Elfrida down from the wagon and supported her as she took faltering steps into the inn.
Neither was used to the rough life of the jongleurs, and so both were glad that custom dictated the inn
offer free food and lodgings for the itinerant performers. With only four months until her babe was due,
Elfrida was particularly grateful for the chance to spend a night indoors. Morrell lifted Enit down from her
driving seat and carried her into the inn's common room, Dide playing a well-known folk song as he
sauntered behind.

Gwilym the Ugly, unable to perform because of his wooden leg and harsh voice, busied himself stabling
the horses, leaving the wagon and caravans drawn up in the courtyard outside the inn's barn. Lilanthe
helped him, unwilling to leave the sheltering darkness. The cluricaun Brun stayed within the safety of Enit's
caravan, unwilling even to poke his furry face out the door in case he should be seen. Both faeries were
very nervous of being discovered, even though the first action of the new righ had been to overturn his
brother's decrees against witchcraft and the faeries. Lilanthe and Brun had suffered too much in the past
to trust easily to the good nature of the countryfolk, despite the strict new laws that forbade any violence
to those of faery blood.

The traveling troupe had first heard of the rebels' victory as they traveled out of Aslinn and into the wide
valleys of upper Blessem. A peddler had been holding court among a rapt crowd, his cart piled high with
pots and saucepans, rolls of bright material, rakes, spades and wooden sabots. Voice shrill with
excitement, arms gesticulating wildly, he had described how the rebels had stormed Lucescere Palace
after the death of the former righ, Jaspar MacCuinn. The rebel army had been led by a winged warrior
whoтАФthe peddler had paused theatricallyтАФwas none other than Lachlan Owein MacCuinn, the
youngest son of Parteta the Brave and Jaspar's long-lost brother.

Ripples of excitement, bewilderment and dismay had run over the crowd. Rumors of the winged prionnsa
had been burning like wildfire all over the country for almost a year, but the countryfolk had always been
loyal to the Crown and many had loved the former Banrigh and could not believe the tales now told of
her. Maya the Blessed, born of the dreaded Fairgean, the fierce sea-dwelling faeries who had terrorized
the coastline for centuries? Maya the Blessed an evil sorceress who had transformed the lost
prionnsachan into blackbirds and then cruelly hunted them down? It was too strange and horrible for the
people to believe, and there was much muttering among the throng.

The jongleurs and their companions had been thrilled at the news. Since rescuing Gilliane and the other
children kidnapped by Margrit of Arran, the jongleurs had been hurrying to join Lachlan and give him