"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 04 - Dragonspell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

Llithredawrllyry;lioncawad,
Adwfnrhyd;berwydbrydbrad.
Cowsinthebyre,beerinthebowl.
Rainfloodsthefierce-flowingford
Andslickpaths.Asoulstewsovertreason.

LlywarchtheAncestor




Even though dark clouds hung close to earth all day in what might have been either a heavy fog or an
outright drizzle, out in the sacred grove beyond the city walls of Aberwyn the ancient oaks glowed with a
light of their own, the autumnal splendour of their scarlet and gold leaves. A few sparks of that flame had
fluttered down to lie in the muddy grave like golden offerings to match the grave goods already in place,
jars and ewers of mead and oil, loaves of bread, a fine sword in a gilded scabbard, pottery statues of the
gwerbretтАЩs favourite horses, all set around the wicker-work chariot. Although Deverry men had stopped
fighting from chariots some thousand years earlier, their memory persisted as a thing belonging to heroes,
and great men were buried in them, but lying down, unlike their ancestors, who were sometimes propped
up in a parody of action that seemed indecent to Deverrian minds.

Lovyan, Tieryn Dun Gwerbyn, regent to the gwerbretrhyn of Aberwyn, stood at the edge of the grave
and watched the shaven-headed priests of Bel clambering around in the mud as they laid the body of
Rhys Maelwaedd, her eldest son, down for his last rest. By then the rituals were long over, and most of
the huge crowd of mourners gone, but she lingered, unable to cry or keen, weary to the very heart, as
they arranged his fine plaid, the silver, blue, and green of Aberwyn, around him. Once they began to fill in
the grave, she would leave, she decided. She had watched wet earth fall on the faces of other men she
had loved, her husband, her second son Aedry, the third son dead in childbirth that theyтАЩd never even
named; she had no need to watch it again.

Beside her Nevyn laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. A tall man, with a shock of white hair and
piercing blue eyes, he had skin as wrinkled as one of the fallen leaves and hands spotted all over from
age, but he stood as straight and walked as vigorously as a young warrior. Although everyone who knew
him considered his energy a marvel, Lovyan was one of the few who knew the truth, that he owed it to
the dweomer of light, because he was one of the greatest sorcerers who had ever lived in Deverry. Just
lately he had come into her service as a councillor, but in truth, she assumed, she was the one who was
serving his particular ends. It mattered not to her, because not only did she trust him, but their particular
goals were, for the moment at least, the same.

тАШItтАЩs cold out here, Your Grace,тАЩ he said, his voice soft with sympathy.

тАШIтАЩm well aware of that, my thanks. WeтАЩll be leaving soon.тАЩ
 The priests were fastening the enormous golden ring-brooch to the plaid and clasping it closed around
the dead gwerbretтАЩs neck. She looked away and saw two men pushing a slab of stone, balanced on a
hand-cart, towards the grave. The epitaph was already carved, an englyn of praise for the ruler of
Aberwyn, lost to a hunting accident, but of course, it never mentioned the true cause of his death: evil
dweomer. She shuddered, remembering the day when theyтАЩd ridden out together to fly their hawks.
TheyтАЩd been calmly trotting down the river road when RhysтАЩs horse had gone mad, bucking and rearing,
finally falling to crush its rider. Even at the time the accident had seemed inexplicable; later she had
learned that dark dweomermen had caused the horseтАЩs madness and thus had murdered Rhys as surely