"Juliet Marillier - Wolfskin 1 - Wolfskin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marillier Juliet)

hallways, one lovely meeting at dusk in the garden, hidden by hedges of flowering thorn. They sang
together softly; they taught each other verses of love. Niall told Thora she had a voice like a lark; she
giggled and put her arms around him, and he thought he might die of joy and of anticipation. Then
summer drew to a close, and Hrolf took his daughter home.

"Brynjolf did not go on the autumn viking that year. He excused himself from court and traveled north,
and with him he took his blood brother, Niall the poet. To distant Frosta they journeyed, and by the
wayside, they acquired two large, silent companions, men with scarred faces, whose empty eyes filled
Niall with dread. There was no need for Brynjolf to tell him where they were going, or for what purpose.
It was a quest for vengeance, and Niall's oath bound him to it. He fixed his thoughts on the summer, and
on his sweet Thora. Life would be good: the comforts of the Jarl's court, the satisfaction of exercising his
craft, the joys of marriage. He must simply do what had to be done here, and put it behind him, for there
was a rosy future ahead.

"They moved through deep woodlands by night. At the forest fringe, Brynjolf halted them with a hand.
Not far below them lay a darkened long-house, a thread of smoke still rising from the chimney. The folk
were abed; a half moon touched the roof thatch with silver and glinted on a bucket set neatly by the well.

" 'Draw your swords,' whispered Brynjolf. 'Not one must escape: not man, woman nor child. Go in
quickly. There may be dogs.'

"Then they lit torches from the one Brynjolf had carried, and with naked sword in hand, each ran to a
different side of the building. Niall's was the north. He saw the flare of dry wattles catching to east and
west; so far, the dogs were silent. But it seemed not all there slept. From within the darkened house,
close to the place where he stood frozen, clutching his flaming brand, came the sound of a girl singing.
She sang very softly, in a voice like a lark's, a little song known only to a pair of lovers who had crafted it
one summer's eve in a sheltered garden."

As Hakon recounted his tale, there was a deathly silence in the temple.

Some of his audience had seen this coming, knowing the way of such tales, yet still the horror of it
gripped them.

"What could he do?" asked Hakon. "Thora was there, in the house, and already flames rose on three
sides of the building, hungry for wattles and timber and human flesh. She was the daughter of Brynjolf's
enemy, the man who had cruelly slaughtered his friend's entire family. Niall loved her. And he had sworn
a blood oath to the man who had saved his life. 'Let me die this day for what I do,' muttered Niall. 'Let
my eyes be blind and my ears deaf. Let my heart break now, and my body be consumed in this
conflagration.' And he reached out with his flaming torch, and set fire to the wattles on the northern side.

"It was a vengeance full and complete. The flames consumed all; there was no need for swords. When it
was over, Brynjolf paid off the hired men, and he and Niall went homeward. Brynjolf thought Niall a little
silent, a little withdrawn. Still, reasoned the warrior, the skald led a protected life. He was not
accustomed to acts of violence, to the daily witnessing of sudden death. Indeed, if it had not been for
Brynjolf's own intervention, Niall would not have survived to journey forth from the home farm and
become a man of wealth and status.

"They returned to the Jarl's court. For a long time, Niall made no more poems. He pleaded illness; the
Jarl allowed him time. Brynjolf was somewhat concerned. Once or twice he asked Niall what was
wrong, and Niall replied, nothing. Brynjolf concluded there was a girl in it somewhere. Folk had