"Robin Hobb - Tawny Man 3 - Fool's Fate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hobb Robin)

the foot of the cliffs had been swept away by the tides. Migratory birds had returned, and their songs rang
challenges in the forested hills and along the beaches where seabirds battled for choice nesting nooks in the
cliffs. Spring had even invaded the dim halls and high-ceilinged chambers of the keep, for blossoming branches
and early-blooming flowers graced every alcove and framed the entries of the gathering rooms.


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The warmer winds seemed to sweep my gloom away. None of my problems and concerns had vanished, but
spring can dismiss a multitude of worries. My physical state had improved; I felt more youthful than I had in
my twenties. Not only was I building flesh and muscle again, but I suddenly possessed the body that a fit man
of my years should have. The harsh healing I had undergone at the inexperienced hands of the coterie had
inadvertently undone old damage as well. Abuse I had suffered at GalenтАЩs hands in the course of his teaching
me the Skill, injuries I had taken as a warrior and the deep scars from my torture in RegalтАЩs dungeons had been
erased. My headaches had nearly ceased, my vision no longer blurred when I was weary, and I did not ache in
the chill of early morning. I lived now in the body of a strong and healthy animal. Few things are so
exhilarating as good health on a clear spring morning.
I stood on the top of a tower and looked out over the wrinkling sea. Behind me, tubs of earth, freshly manured,
held small fruit trees arrayed in blossoms of white and pale pink. Smaller pots held vines with swelling leaf
buds. The long green leaves of bulb flowers thrust up like scouts sent to test the air. In some pots, only bare
brown stalks showed, but the promise was there, each plant awaiting the return of warmer days. Interspersed
with the pots were artfully arranged statuary and beckoning benches. Shielded candles awaited mellow summer
nights to send their glow into the darkness. Queen Kettricken had restored the QueenтАЩs Garden to its former
glory. This high retreat was her private territory. Its present simplicity reflected her Mountain roots, but its
existence was a much older Buckkeep tradition.
I paced a restless turn around its perimeter path, and then forced myself to stand still. The boy was not late. I
was early. That the minutes dragged was not his fault. Anticipation warred with reluctance as I awaited my first
private meeting with Swift, BurrichтАЩs son. My queen had given me responsibility for SwiftтАЩs instruction in both
letters and weaponry. I dreaded the task. Not only was the boy Witted, but he was undeniably headstrong.
Those two things, coupled with his intelligence, could carry him into trouble. The Queen had decreed that the
Witted must be treated with respect, but many still believed that the best cure for Beast Magic was a noose, a
knife, and a fire.
I understood the QueenтАЩs motive in entrusting Swift to me. His father, Burrich, had turned him out of his home
when the boy would not give up the Wit. Yet the same Burrich had devoted years to raising me when I was a
lad and abandoned by my royal father as a bastard that he dared not claim. It was fitting that I now do the same
for BurrichтАЩs son, even if I could never let the boy know that I had once been FitzChivalry and his fatherтАЩs
ward. So it was that I awaited Swift, a skinny lad of ten summers, as nervously as if I faced the boyтАЩs father. I
took a deep breath of the cool morning air. The scent of the fruit tree blossoms balmed it. I reminded myself
that my task would not last long. Very soon, I would accompany the Prince on his quest to Aslevjal in the Out
Islands. Surely I could endure being the ladтАЩs instructor until then.
The Wit Magic makes one aware of other life, and so I turned even before Swift pushed open the heavy door.
He shut it quietly behind him. Despite his long climb up the steep stone stairs, he was not breathing hard. I
remained partially concealed by screening blossoms and studied him. He was dressed in Buckkeep blue, in
simple garments befitting a page. Chade was right. He would make a fine axeman. The boy was thin, in the way
of active boys of that age, but the knobs of shoulders under his jerkin promised his fatherтАЩs brawn. I doubted he
would be tall, but he would be wide enough to make up for it. Swift had his fatherтАЩs black eyes and dark curling
hair, but there was something of Molly in the line of his jaw and the set of his eyes. Molly, my lost love and
BurrichтАЩs wife. I took a long, deep breath. This might be more difficult than I had imagined.
I saw him become aware of me. I stood still, letting his eyes seek me out. For a time we both stood, unspeaking.
Then he threaded his way through the meandering paths until he stood before me. His bow was too carefully
practiced to be graceful.