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

he emerged stiffly from his fragrant cocoon, pulling his mantle more closely
around himself and brushing off bits of hay. The name seemed all too popular
in this part of the world, notwithstanding Queron's personal devotion to the
Blessed Virgin. He had had enough of false alarms since arriving in these hills
above Culdi, several days beforeтАФand of dodging mounted patrols of the new
Earl of Culdi's men. Far more often than he had hoped, in the two weeks since
leaving Dolban, he had had to abandon perfectly good lodgings to avoid a
possibly fatal confrontation with men sympathetic to the regents' most recent
atrocities.
Nor had he dared to be too blatant in the use of his powers to improve the
situations. In these troubled times, simply being Deryni seemed likely to bring
about one's death, whether or not one actually used his or her magical powers.
But perhaps today would be different. At least the storm seemed to have
blown itself out. His hood had slipped back from his head while he fretted and
squirmed in the grip of his nightmare, and he combed stiff fingers through his
shorn hair as he surveyed the morning. Nothing stirred to break the pristine
silence of the new snowfall on this cold winter's morn.
So then, briefly lamenting the past month's lack of a razor, he covered his
head again and knelt to make his morning offering of praise and thanksgiving,
as he did each day on rising. And today, as always, he raised defiant prayers to
Camber of Culdi, whose lands these once had been, and who was and would
remain a saint, so far as Queron Kinevan was concerned.



chapter two



They were killed, but by accursed men, and such as had taken up an unjust
envy against them.
тАФI Clement 20:7
Snow began to fall again by midafternoon, but the sky stayed bright. Queron
drew his hood closer as he approached the gate of yet another tiny abbey,
raising a numb, mittened hand to shade his eyes against the snow glare and
study the thin curls of smoke eddying upward from several sets of chimneys.
At least no horses appeared to have been this way todayтАФa fair indication
that he would find no soldiers about. And the smoke meant that he might hope
for a hot meal and a chance to warm himself in the abbey's parlor. His booted
feet were near frozen after another day's trudging through the snow, his cloak
and hood rimed with ice. With any luck, this might even turn out to be the
Saint Mary's he was looking forтАФthough he had had enough disappointments
in the last few days not to expect too much.
No horses stood in the yard of this new abbey, eitherтАФanother good sign
that the place was safe. As Queron paused at the open gate, cautiously casting
out with his mind for danger, a middle-aged monk in a black habit and mantle
came down off the catwalk over the gate arch and made him a deferential bow,
hands tucked into sleeve openings, as was seemly.
"The blessings of God Almighty be upon you, good traveler," the monk said.
"May I offer you the humble hospitality of Saint Mary's?"