"Elizabeth Haydon - Symphony of Ages - Threshold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haydon Elizabeth)

The child slept all the way to the crossroads, leaning against Hector, sitting before him in the saddle. The
woman, who rode behind Anais, slept as well, or at least seemed to; her hollow eyes remained open,
glassy, and unfocused, but her breathing took on a more even rhythm after a mile or so.

Neither had spoken a word the entire time the six people had huddled in the livery. The insistent
rainshower had given way quickly to a full-blown storm, tempestuous and drenching; the sheets of rain
rattled what remained of the stableтАЩs roof and poured in small waterfalls through the openings.

тАЬWell, at least the horses got out,тАЭ Jarmon had observed sourly, shifting to avoid a new leak.

тАЬSomething to be grateful for,тАЭ Anais had said. Hector had said nothing.

After the worst of the storm had passed, leaving great clouds of mist blanketing the cold ground, the
travelers had taken to the road leading east out of Kingston, through the broken city archway that had
once been an architectural marvel but now lay in pieces in the roadway. In the dark the destruction was
not as apparent as it was by day, and once the city was behind them there was little indication that
anything at all was wrong with the world on this rainy night. The horses trotted easily over the muddy
roadway, seemingly invigorated, perhaps relieved to be away from the cleansing pyres and out in the cool
mist of rolling fields again.

An hourтАЩs ride put them at the crossroads, where the legendary inn stood, abandoned and empty of most
of its furnishings. The Crossroads Inn had been a place of historical impact beyond any a building should
have a right to possess; a critical meeting place and refuge of blessed ground in the Seren War two
centuries before and even after it, famous for its hospitality, safety, and the vast stone hearth where the
fire was never extinguished. Now it was dark, hollow as the womanтАЩs eyes. Its door, once gilded with a
golden griffin and said to be the talisman by which the inn remained untouched even in the times when
enemies occupied the westlands, was missing, taken over the sea with the First Fleet. Its entrance
yawned open like a dark cave.

The innтАЩs hospitality may have been intrinsic, because it remained in the place even now, shell that it was.
It was their favorite resting place, a refuge still, even in the absence of innkeeper, barkeep, household
spirits, or door.

Jarmon dismounted, lit a brand, and went inside, scouting to ascertain whether anything had come to call
since the last time they had been here. While he quickly checked the empty tavern and rooms, Cantha
assisted Hector and Anais from their horses with their human cargo.

тАЬWhere did they come from?тАЭ Hector asked as the boy sleepily wound his thin arms around the knightтАЩs
neck.

тАЬFrom the market, IтАЩd wager,тАЭ said Anais, helping the woman down from the saddle.

тАЬHow could we have missed them?тАЭ

His friend shrugged. тАЬI donтАЩt know that we did. They might have walked from east of the Great River, or
a village along the river itself. We canтАЩt save everyone, Hector, though you certainly insist upon trying.
Surely you must know that by now.тАЭ

Hector passed his hand gently over the sleeping boyтАЩs back, thinking of another child like him. тАЬI do,
Anais.тАЭ