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

as if theyтАЩd used a sword. Why? That, no one knew.

The priests climbed out of the grave and signalled to the diggers, leaning on their shovels nearby.
Lovyan blew a kiss at her dead son.

тАШSleep well, little one,тАЩ she whispered, then turned away. тАШCome along, all of you. WeтАЩd best get back
to the dun.тАЩ

Nevyn took her arm, and the small crowd of pages and serving women fell in behind her as they made
their silent way to the edge of the grove, where her escort was waiting. Twenty-five men of RhysтАЩs
warband and fifteen of her own stood at respectful attention beside their horses. As she approached, her
captain, Cullyn of Cerrmor, led over her horse, a beautiful golden mare with a silvery mane and tail, and
held it for her as she mounted and adjusted her long dresses and cloak over the sidesaddle.

тАШMy thanks, captain.тАЩ She took the reins from him, then turned in the saddle to make sure that the rest
of her retinue were ready to ride. тАШWell and good, then. LetтАЩs get back home.тАЩ

At the captainтАЩs signal the men mounted, and the procession set off, Lovyan and Nevyn at the head,
her women and pages just behind, and bringing up the rear, the warbands. As they rode up to the high
city walls, the men on duty at the gates snapped to smart attention, but Lovyan barely saw them, so
wrapped in numb grief was she. ItтАЩs all been too much, she thought to herself; simply too much to bear.
Yet in her heart she knew that she could indeed bear it, that she would somehow find from somewhere
the strength to see her through the difficult months ahead. Many noblewomen, it seemed, lived lives that
allowed them the luxury of hysterics; they could wallow in fits of weeping, or shut themselves up
dramatically in their chambers and get sympathy from half the kingdom with no one being the worse for it;
she, however, had always had to stifle her griefs and rise above her weaknesses. At times, such as that
moment in the chilly drizzle, she resented it, but even in her resentment she knew that sheтАЩd been given
the better bargain by the gods.

As the procession wound through the rain-slick cobbled streets of Aberwyn, the townsfolk came out
of house and shop to pay their respects quite spontaneously to the tieryn, who had been well-liked here
when sheтАЩd been the wife of the then gwerbret, Tingyr, before their son Rhys inherited the rhan. Their
heads bared to the drizzle, the men bowed and the women curtsied, and here and there someone called
out тАШOur hearts ache for you, Your GraceтАЩ, or тАШOur sorrows go with youтАЩ. LovyanтАЩs heart ached more
for them. Soon, unless she and Nevyn were successful in averting it, war would ravage AberwynтАЩs
prosperous streets, and these people would have more to sorrow over than her mourning.

The rank of gwerbret was an odd one in the Deverry scheme of things. Although by LovyanтАЩs time the
office passed down from father to son, originally, back in the Dawntime, gwerbrets had been elected
magistrates, called тАШvergobretesтАЩ in the old tongue. A remnant of this custom still survived in the Council
of Electors, who met to choose a new gwerbret whenever one died without an heir. Since the rank
brought with it many an honour as well as a fortune in taxes and property, every great clan and a few
optimistic lesser ones as well vied among themselves to be chosen whenever the line of sucession broke,
and more often than not, the contest turned from a thing of bribes and politicking into open war. Once the
Council got to fighting among themselves, the bloodshed could go on for years, because not even the
King could intervene to stop it. Any king who marched in defiance of the laws would find himself with
long years of resentment and rebellion on his hands. The most his highness could do was use his honorary
seat on the Council to urge peace if he were so minded, or to politick along with everyone else for the
candidate he favoured. The latter was the more usual occurrence.