"Katherine Kurtz - Deryni 1 - Deryni Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

For
CARL M. SELLE who knew all along that it would begin this way.
A Del Rey Book
.Published by Ballantine Books
Copyright (c) 1970 by Katherine Kurtz
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Published in the United States by BaUantine Books, a division of
Random House, Iflc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of
Canada Limited, Toronto.
ISBN 0-345-30426-8
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: August 1970 Twelfth Printing: October 1983
Cover art by Darrell K. Sweet

DERYNI RISING

CHAPTER ONE
"Lest the hunter become the hunted."

BRION HALDANE, King of Gwynedd, Prince of Meara, and Lord of the Purple March,
reined in his horse sharply at the top of the hill and scanned the horizon.
He was not a big man, though regal bearing and a catlike grace had convinced
many a would-be adversary that he was. But his enemies rarely had time to
notice this technicality.
Dark, lean, with just a trace of grey beginning to show at his temples, in the
precise black beard, he commanded instant respect by his mere presence in a
room. When he spoke, whether with the crackle of authority or the lower tones
of subtle persuasion, men listened and obeyed.
And if fine words could not convince, often the persuasion of cold steel
could. The worn scabbard of the broadsword at his side attested to that, as
did the slim stiletto in its black suede sheath at his wrist.
The hands that steadied the skittish war horse be-tween his knees were gentle
but firm on the red leather reins-the hands of a fighting man, the hands of
one accustomed to command.
If one studied him more closely, however, one was forced to revise the
original impression of warrior-king. For the wide grey eyes held promise of
much more than mere military prowess and expertise. Indeed, they glittered
with a shrewd intelligence and wit which were known and admired throughout the
Eleven Kingdoms.
And if there were a fleeting aura of mystery, of forbidden magic about this
man, that was discussed in whispers, if at all. For at thirty-nine, Brion of
Haldane had kept the peace in Gwynedd for nearly fifteen years. The king who
now sat his horse at the top of the hill had earned such infrequent moments of
pleasure as he now pursued.
Brion slipped his feet from the stirrups and stretched his legs. At mid-
morning, the ground fog was just lifting, and the unseasonable cold of the
night before still permeated everything. Even the protection of hunting
leathers could not wholly prevent the light chain mail beneath Brion's tunic
from chilling like ice. And silk beneath the mail was small consolation.
He pulled the crimson wool of his cloak more closely around him, flexed numb