"Kurtz, Katherine - Camber of Culdi 01 - Camber of Culdi" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

"I know Joram's weaknesses, Father-just as I know yours."
She glanced at him coyly and caught his indulgent expression, then smiled and stood, relieved by the chance to change the subject.
"May we translate now, Father? I've prepared the next two cantos."
"Have you, now?" he asked. "Very well, bring the manuscript."
With a pleased sigh, Evaine darted to the table and began searching among the rolls. She located the scroll she was looking for, but before she could turn away her eye was caught by a small, pale golden stone lying beside one of the inkwells. She picked it up.
"What is this?"
"What?"
"This curious golden stone. Is it a gem?"
Camber smiled and shook his head. "Not really. The mountain folk in Kierney call it shiral. It comes out of the river that way, already polished. Bring it here and I'll show you something peculiar about it."
Evaine returned to her chair and sat, settling the forgotten scroll in her lap as she held the stone to the firelight. It glittered, slightly translucent, strangely compelling. She passed it to her father without a word as he set aside his wine goblet.
"Now," said Camber, gesturing expansively with the stone in his hand, "you're familiar with the spell Rhys uses to extend perception before he heals-the one he taught you and Joram as an aid to meditation?"
Rhys's image flashed before her for just an instant and she blushed. "Of course."
"Well, on my last trip to Culdi, I found this. I happened to have it in my hand one night while I said my evening devotions, and it- Well, watch. It's easiest to show you."
Holding the object lightly in the fingers of his two hands, Camber inhaled, exhaled, his eyes narrowing slightly as he passed into the earliest stages of a Deryni trance. His breathing slowed, the handsome face relaxed-and then the stone began to glow faintly. Camber brought his eyes back to focus and extended his hands toward Evaine, still in trance, the stone still glowing.
Evaine's lips formed a silent O.
"How do you do it?" she breathed.
"I'm not exactly sure."
Camber blinked and broke the spell, and the stone-light died. He cupped it between his hands for a mere heartbeat, then held it out to her with a shake of his head.
"You try it."
"Very well."
Taking the stone in one hand, Evaine passed her other hand over it and bowed her head, mentally reciting the words which would bring Rhys's trance. The stone did nothing for several seconds as she explored its several avenues of approach; then it began to glow. With a sigh, Evaine returned to the world, held the stone closer as the light was extinguished.
"Strange. It hardly takes any effort at all, once you know what you're doing. What is it for?"
Camber shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't been able to find a single use for it yet-other than to fascinate gullible daughters, that is. You may keep it, if you like."
"May I, really?"
"Of course. But don't think it's going to help you with Pargan Howiccan. Two cantos, indeed! If you make it through more than two pages, I shall be very surprised. Pleased, but surprised."
"Is that a challenge, sir?" Evaine grinned delightedly, opening the scroll and leaning closer to her father. "Canto Four, being the Rise of the Lleassi and Johanan's Quest.
" 'Now, in those days, the Lords of the Dark Places were exceedingly powerful, and their sphere was the orb of the Earth.
" 'And the Deryni Lord Johanan said unto the Servant of the High Gods, "Send me, Lord, to cast out the Lleassi. For Thou hast seen their iniquities, and their sins are great."
" 'And the eyes of Makurias-in-Glory were inclined with favour upon the Lord Johanan, and His hands He laid upon the head of His servant in the blessing of the Lord of Hosts.
" 'And the Lord Johanan gathered to him his hosts of liegemen, and laid siege to the Lords of the Dark Places. And great was their strength. . . .' "

chapter two
He shall go to the generation of his fathers . . .
-Psalms 49:19

Hurrying through the crowds and morning mist, Rhys Thuryn spied the old woolen merchant's house up ahead, its thatched upper story thrust rudely among the more imposing facades of stone and brick.
Despite the early hour, Fullers' Alley was alive with sound and motion, wily merchants opening their shops and market stalls, traders unloading precious silks and brocades and velvets from protesting beasts of burden, wandering peddlers hawking their wares with raucous calls. Beggars and street urchins also roamed the narrow thoroughfare-and undoubtedly cutpurses, too, Rhys thought ruefully-but they gave his Healer's green a wide berth as he passed, some of them even tugging at forelocks in respect. He supposed it was a bit unusual to see a Deryni in this street these days, and a Healer, at that.
But even had the denizens of Fullers' Alley not been disposed to give him way, that could not have kept Rhys from his appointment this morning. Old Daniel Draper had been one of Rhys's first patients, and a valued friend long before that. And Fullers' Alley had not always been a den of merchants and thieves. Conditions had deteriorated since the beginning of the current regime.
Rhys gained the relative shelter of one of the brick-and-timber buildings and glanced ahead to get his bearings; then he lifted the edge of his mantle to avoid a dungheap and slipped back into the street. Daniel's door was the next one down, and already Gifford, Rhys's manservant, was battering at the door with his staff, his master's medical pouch slung from his shoulder by a stout leather strap.
Rhys started to take the pouch as he reached Gifford's side, but then he stayed his hand. Neither medicines nor the special healing craft practiced by men like Rhys could cure old Dan Draper now. When a man lived to the age of eighty-three (or so Dan said), even a Deryni Healer could not hope to do more than ease that soul's passage to the next world. And Dan had been dying for a long time.
He thought about Dan as he and Gifford waited for the door to open. The old man had been a remarkable part of Rhys's growing up-a veritable treasure trove of tales about the years immediately after the change of royal house. Dan claimed to remember the early years of Festil I, who had deposed the last Haldane king. And Dan had lived through the reigns of three other Festillic monarchs-though he would not live through the fifth: the current representative of the new dynasty was a young man of twenty-two, king since the death of his father Blaine three years before, and in excellent health. No, the old man would not see a sixth Festillic king on the Throne of Gwynedd.
They were admitted by one of the maids, who burst into tears as she recognized Rhys and stepped aside to let them pass. Several more servants were huddled together in the shop itself, some of them making halfhearted attempts to perform their customary duties, but all stopped what they were doing as the Healer moved among them. Rhys tried to appear reassuring as he crossed the beaten-earth floor and mounted the stairway to the living quarters, but he knew he was not succeeding. He bounded up the stairs three at a time, reaching the upper landing only a little out of breath. He ran a hand through unruly red hair in a nervous gesture.
Rhys did not need to be shown the master's door; he had been there many times before. He eased the door open to find the room in dimness, the draperies pulled across the windows; and the air was stifling with incense and the odor of impending death. A priest he did not know was aspersing the bed with holy water and murmuring a prayer, and for a moment Rhys was afraid he had come too late. He waited by the door until the priest had finished his prayer, then moved closer to the foot of the bed.
"I'm Lord Rhys, Father," he said, his green mantle proclaiming his calling. "Is he-?"
The priest shook his head. "Not yet, my lord. He's received the last rites and is in a state of grace, but he keeps asking for you. I'm afraid he's beyond even your healing powers-with all due respect, sir."
"I'm aware of that, Father." Rhys gestured apologetically toward the door. "Do you mind leaving us for a few minutes? He said he wanted some time alone with me, before the end."
"Very well, my lord."
As the priest closed the door behind him, Rhys moved to the left of the bed and gazed down at the face of the dying man. The gray eyes stared at the ceiling-Rhys could not be certain at first glance whether they saw or not-and the man's breathing was very shallow. Rhys reached to the drapes and pushed them aside to admit light and air, then touched the gnarled wrist and found a pulse. Gently, he bent beside the old man's ear.
"It's Rhys, Dan. Can you hear me? I came as soon as I could."
The eyes flickered and the lips moved, and then the gray head turned slowly toward the young Deryni. A thin hand was feebly raised, and Rhys took it in his own with a smile.