"Boreal Moon - 02 - Ironcrown Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (May Julian)

What am I going to do now? he asked himself. The lugger had long since gone away, its escape from the shoaly bay assisted by the rising tide. The bitch-princess hadnТt even bothered rowing with the sweeps. SheТd just hoisted the sail and jibed out through the reefs slickerТn eel slime!
Cursing monotonously, Vorgo Waterfall trudged along the shrinking beach. He knew he wasnТt clever. DadТd told him that often enough, sometimes with a curse and a smack on the ear. УBut you be a crafty one, Vorgo,Ф heТd also said. УYou got a nose for the main thing, like a cur pup. You can do lots worse than follow that nose oС yourn.Ф
Right now, his nose was leading him back the way the women and the boy had come, toward the sea-hagТs steading. The tide was half-high, and in many places the going was hard, even dangerous, until he rounded the point and came to the fjord beach. There all he had to do was slog on. He tried to come up with a plan. Dad always had a plan. But now the bitch-princess who would have made them rich was gone. Only the sea-hag was left.
She was a witch, a very powerful one. All of the fishermen of the northwest shore knew that it was death to enter her fjord. But why should that be? He thought hard about it as he tramped and waded along. Why didnТt she want visitors? Other magickers were glad to sell their potions and amulets and spell-dollies to ornТry folk, but not old Dobnelu. Why?Е
Maybe she had gold hidden in her house!
He touched the bag of charms hanging at his throat. What was it they were supposed to do? Make him invisible once he entered the circle of magic stones? Fend off the sea-hagТs sorcery? He couldnТt recall. But the charms had to be strong, because Dad had paid a lot for them, and they were good only on Midsummer Eve.
So he had to get on with it. Find that gold!
He climbed the cliff path, crossed the meadow, and stopped at the boundary of stonesЧordinary-looking things with nothing special about them at all. He clutched the charms and held his breath as he stepped between them, but nothing happened.
Am I invisible now? he wondered. No way to tell. There was a tiny hut not far away, near the vegetable garden. He decided to start looking for the gold inside it. People often hid things under the floor of sheds.
When he pushed the door open he gave a yelp of fear and froze in his tracks. The sea-hag herself was in there, lying on a low cot! She didnТt move but he could hear her raspy breathing. He was amazed at how small she was and how frail. The sorceress whoТd terrorized the entire coast of Tarn was just a little old bag of bones dressed in a ragged robe!
Why, he could wring her neck like a chickenЕ
Vorgo bent over her and very carefully touched the hagТs sunken cheek. She slept on, so he screwed up his courage and did it, and she never squirmed or cried out or even opened her eyes, but only ceased to breathe. He let go of her and lurched away. Sweat ran from his hair into his eyes and he was shivering in spite of the dayТs heat.
Dead! The awful sea-hag was dead, and her treasure was his for the taking. All he had to do was find it.
He searched inside the farmhouse for four hours.
But he found no gold, no money, no jewels, hardly anything of value at all save a dented silver cup and a string of agate beads and a finely wrought little dagger with a carnelian pommel. Frustrated and furious, he kicked a wooden bucket across the kitchen. Now what? HeТd have to hunt more carefully, try the byre and the hen coop and the backhouse. But first heТd have something to eat from the well-stocked larderЧ
The outside door opened.
Standing there was a robust man of medium stature, clad in a simple brown deerskin tunic and matching gartered trews. He wore crossed baldrics having many small bulging compartments, and on his breast was a massive pectoral of gold inset with Tarnian opals. His hair and beard were as red as fire-lilies and his deep-set black eyes glittered with unshed tears.
УDid you do it?Ф he asked.
Vorgo had heard of him: all Tarn had, although few had ever seen him face-to-face. This was Red Ansel Pikan, the High Shaman, leader of nearly all the other magickers in the sealordsТ realm, the most famous wizard of the northland. Too shocked to speak, the youth stood stock-still with his mouth hanging open.
The shaman lifted a small baton of carved unicorn-ivory. There was a soundless flash. Vorgo gave a despairing wail and his legs folded under him. He knelt on the scrubbed wooden floor with his hands clasped in entreaty. УI didnТt kill her! I never did!Ф
He felt a frightful pang of agony in his right ear. He shrieked and writhed as something small fell from his head, bounced off his shoulder, and smashed into white shards on the floor.
AnselТs black eyes had grown enormous and they held no pity. УTell me your name. Explain what youТre doing here. If you lie to me again, your other ear will freeze solid and fall off. More lies will cost you your nose and your lips-Ф
УNo!Ф Vorgo howled. УIТll tell!Ф The sordid tale poured out, disorganized and half-coherent; but Ansel understood it well enough. DobneluТs physical body had been casually slain by a half-wit, barely sixteen years of age for all his brawny build, corrupted by his venal father, hardly knowing right from wrong.
He sighed. УSo the princess and the maidservant and the boy sailed away in your boat?Ф
УYes, my lord.Ф Vorgo hung his head and bawled. Strings of snot leaked from his nose.
AnselТs eyes lost their focus and he windsearched the sea south and east of Useless Bay. Found her almost at once, handily steering a fishing smack under a louring sky. What a woman! Rusgann and Dyfrig were with her in the cockpit. The maid was honing a long kitchen knife with an oilstone. Maude wore an even larger blade on her belt. They had tied up their skirts to simulate trousers, donned tattered oilskin jackets, and wrapped their heads in grubby kerchiefs.
TheyТd reach Northkeep late tomorrow, with the wind light and fitful.
HereТs a pretty mess, Ansel thought. I must take DobneluТs body to the Source without delay. The tricky crossover is bound to take hours, and only the Three Icebound Sisters know how long IТll have to tarry in the cave once I do arrive. Meanwhile, Maude is giving me the slip as nicely as you please! I canТt becalm her with the weather brewing up as it is, and I certainly canТt capsize the boat with a windblast. So sheТll take refuge with her brother Liscanor at the castle. And heТll use his resident windvoice to inform High Sealord Sernin of the news about Maude and her sonЧand a talented Sovereign sitting on BlenholmeТs throne. The gaff will be well and truly blownЧand how will Con-rig Wincantor survive to play his part in the New Conflict?
Shall I abandon Dobnelu and transport my subtle self to Maude? I could subdue her and the others and sail their boat back to the steading. But she might arrive at Northkeep before I finish the drumming ritual and am able to transport myself.
Shall I carry on trying to save my friend and let the Source sort out the others? HeТs not omnipotent. Once Maude lets ConrigТs cat out of the bag, itТs out to stay.
God of the Heights and Depths! Is there any other way I can salvage this situation? Why not bespeak LiscanorТs windvoice, scare him silly, and command him to keep his mental gob shut?
УWorkable!Ф Ansel Pikan exclaimed out loud.
УM-my lord?Ф the wretched youth mumbled. He sat slumped on his heels. A thin trickle of blood from his amputated ear stained the shoulder of his shirt.
Ansel had nearly forgotten the murdererТs presence. Time to deal with him.
УVorgo Waterfall, you have committed a grave sin by taking a human life and you must atone for it. You are young, however, and sadly lacking in brains. And as it happens, I can use you.Ф
УMe?Ф The dullard slowly lifted his head.
УYou. IТm going to attempt to bring back the woman you slew. Restore her life. It may take a fairly long time. If she does return, I want her to find her house and her livestock just as she left them. So you will stay here and take care of them as if your own life depended upon it. Because it does. Do you understand me, Vorgo?Ф
УYouТre not gonna kill me?Ф Dawning hope.
УNot if you work hard. Can you do that?Ф
УOh, yes, my lord!Ф
УI canТt promise to let you go, even if the sea-hag lives. SheТs a very old woman and needs help to survive in this place. YouТd have to stay with her until her natural death occurred. Natural, Vorgo! It could take years. After she passed on, IТd come and take you back to your people in Northkeep Port. What do you say? It wonТt be an easy life, and if you canТt bear the thought of it, IТll just freeze you to death right now. You wonТt feel a thing.Ф
УNo! No! Please, IТll do it. AnythinС you say.Ф
IТll have to spell every task out for him three times over, Ansel thought in resignation. But first, IТd better bespeak LiscanorТs windvoiceЧand any others near to Northkeep.
УStay here and beg GodТs forgiveness. IТll be back in a moment to tell you what to do.Ф The shaman stepped outside the door and closed it behind him.
Back in the kitchen. Vorgo wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. Only now did he truly understand his great good luck. He wasnТt going to die! Instead, heТd feed ducks and herd goats and sheep and hoe the sea-hagТs cabbages. It would be lots easier than gutting fish or mending nets. This house was much larger than the squalid cottage on the waterfront heТd shared with his evil-tempered father. Probably fewer rats, too. And the larder was crammed with food and barrels of home-brewed ale and jugs of malt. Not bad at all!
HeТd worry about the sea-hag coming back to life later.
Meanwhile, there was still her treasure to hunt forЕ
==========
The rain began late the next day when they were still a league out of port, and Maudrayne was glad of it. With no darkness to hide them, she had been concerned about being recognized. Lukort WaterfallТs lugger Scoter would be familiar to every sailor and fishmonger in Northkeep, and she had wondered if it might be safer to moor it in some secluded spot, go ashore in the coracle, and push on to the castle by some roundabout route afoot.
The misty rain and the false dusk brought on by the low-hanging clouds made that unnecessary. Boldly, she steered straight for the castleТs deepwater landing stage. A few other returning skippers hailed her, but she deflected their interest in the time-honored fashion of the trade by growling, УNo luck,Ф and adding a salty curse on fickle fish.