"Katherine Kurtz - Heirs 1 - Harrowing of Gwynedd" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

"It will be dark soon. I think it might be healthiest for both of us if I went on
alone.''
"Why?" Revan had asked. "No one suspects who you are."
"Not who, no." He held up the end of his braid. "But if anyone were to see
this, they might suspect what. It isn't necessarily true that only Gabrilites and
the Servants of Saint Camber wear braids more or less like this, but in this
vicinity, given what's just happened down there, it strikes me that such a
symbol might causeтАФahтАФdangerous questions to be asked. I wonder, are your
barbering skills as good as your medical ones?"
Revan had blinked and looked at him strangely.
"Beg pardon, sir?"
"I want you to cut it off for me, Revan." Queron pulled the braid over his
shoulder. "I've had this a long time, and losing it will not be without cost, but
I'm afraid it's become more of a liability than an asset. Our founders never
meant it to be a betrayal unto deathтАФmine or yours."
Revan shifted uneasily, but he pulled from his belt the little knife he used
for cutting bread and cheese, fingering its edge uncertainly as Queron turned
his back.
"Go ahead," the Healer murmured. "Don't worry about finesse. Just hack it
off. We haven't got all night."
He tried to make himself relax as Revan gingerly took hold of the braid and
worked his fingers up toward the base of Queron's neck where the plaiting
began, sensing Revan's surprise and curiosity when he discovered that the
braid was composed of four strands rather than the more common
threeтАФthough Revan did not ask about it.
"We call the braid a g'dula," Queron said quietly, taut as a catapult as Revan
began sawing across the wiry mass with his knife. "The four strands have a
special symbolism for us. I mayn't tell you what it is, beyond the obvious
connection with the four Archangels and the four Quarters, but since I'm sure
you noticed, it seemed only fair to tell you." He sighed heavily and suppressed a
shudder. "No blade has touched my hair since I took my first vowsтАФit's been
nearly twenty-five years ago now. The braid will have to be ritually burned,
when time and place permit.''
Cutting the braid had been a psychic wrench as well as a physical one, and
Queron, reliving the trauma in his dream, twitched in his sleep and startled
awake at last, all at once, one hand automatically groping toward the scrip at
his waist. His heart was pounding, his breathing rapid and alarmed, but the
braid was still there, wound in a tight coil the size of his fist.
Thank God!
Gradually, the panic past, his heart rate and breathing returned to normal.
After a while, very cautiously, he began burrowing out of his haystack,
squinting increasingly against the glare of the early morning sun on snowdrifts,
for the "barn" sheltering the hay was a roof only, supported by four stout posts,
and the roof itself was none too sound. He knew he must deal with the g'dula
soonтАФwhich probably would stop the nightmaresтАФbut right now, his first
priority was to find Saint Mary's Abbey. The goodwife who had given him
beggar's fare of bread and hot, thick stew, the previous noon, had said she
thought there was a small monastery in the hills not far from here, but she had
not known its name. It might be Saint Mary's.
God willing, it would be the right Saint Mary's this time, Queron thought, as