"Quest Of The Riddle-Master - 01 - The Riddle-Master Of Hed" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

The battle was brief and engrossing. Morgon's farmers, who until the previous spring had been under Athol's placid, efficient rule, stared half-shocked, half-grinning as the Prince of Hed was sent rolling across a mud puddle, staggered to his feet, and, head lowered like a bull, launched himself at his brother. Eliard shook himself free and countered with a swing of his fist that, connecting, sounded in the still air like the distant thunk of ax into wood. Morgon dropped like a sack of grain.
Then Eliard fell to his knees beside the prone body and said, aghast, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Morgon, did I hurt you?"
And Tristan, mute and furious, dumped a bucket of milk over their heads.
There was an odd explosion of whimpering from the porch as Cannon Master sat down on a step and buried his face in his knees. Eliard looked down at his muddy, sodden tunic. He brushed futilely at it.
"Now look what you did," he said plaintively. "Morgon?"
"You squashed my rosebush," Tristan said. "Look what you did to Morgon in front of everybody." She sat down beside Morgon on the wet ground. Her face had lost its habitual scowl. She wiped Morgon's face with her apron. Morgon blinked dazedly, his eyelashes beaded with milk. Eliard sat back on his haunches.
"Morgon, I'm sorry. But don't think you can evade the issue this way."
Morgon moved a hand cautiously after a moment, touched his mouth. "What'sЕ? What was the issue?" he asked huskily.
"Never mind," Tristan said. "It's hardly something to brawl about."
"What is this all over me?"
"Milk."
"I'm sorry," Eliard said again. He put a coaxing hand under Morgon's shoulder, but Morgon shook his head.
"Just let me lie here for a moment. Why did you hit me like that? First you accuse me of murder and then you hit me and pour milk all over me. It's sour. Sour milk. You poured sour milk all overЕ"
"I did," Tristan said. "It was milk for the pigs. You threw Eliard into my rosebush." She touched Morgon's mouth again with her apron. "In front of everyone. I'm so humiliated."
"What did I do?" Morgon said. Eliard sighed, nursing a tender spot over his ribs.
"You made me lose my temper, speaking to me like that. You're slippery as a fish, but I grasped one thing. Last spring you got a crown you shouldn't have. You said that if you answered riddles as badly as I do, you wouldn't be here now. I want to know why. Why?"
Morgon was silent. He sat up after a moment, drawing his knees up, and dropped his head against them.
"Tristan, why did you pick today of all days to bring that up?"
"Go ahead, blame me," Tristan said without rancor. "Here I am running around with patches at my elbows, and you with pearls and jewels under your bed."
"You wouldn't have patches if you'd tell Narly Stone to make you some clothes that fit. You're growing, that's allЕ"
"Will you stop changing the subject!"
Morgon lifted his head. "Stop shouting." He glanced over Eliard's shoulder at the row of motionless, fascinated figures, and sighed. He slid his hands over his face, up through his hair. "I won that crown in a riddle-game I played in An with a ghost."
"Oh." Eliard's voice rose again sharply. "A what?"
"The wraith of Peven, Lord of Aum. That crown under my bed is the crown of the Kings of Aum. They were conquered by Oen of An six hundred years ago. Peven is five hundred years old. He lives bound in his tower by Oen and the Kings of An."
"What did he look like?" Tristan asked. Her voice was hushed. Morgon shrugged slightly; his eyes were hidden from them.
"An old man. An old lord with the answers to a thousand riddles in his eyes. He had a standing wager going that no one could win a riddle-game with him. So I hailed over with the traders and challenged him. He said great lords of Aum, An and Hel, the three portions of An, and even riddle-masters from Caithnard had challenged him to a game, but never a farmer from Hed. I told him I read a lot. Then we played the game. And I won. So I brought the crown home and put it under my bed until I could decide what to do with it. Now, was that worth all the shouting?"
"He forfeited his crown to you when he lost," Eliard said evenly. "What would you have forfeited if you had lost?"
Morgon felt his split mouth gingerly. His eyes strayed to the fields beyond Eliard's back. "Well," he said finally. "You see, I had to win."
Eliard stood up abruptly. He took two strides away from Morgon, his hands clenched. Then he turned around and came back and squatted down again.
"You fool."
"Don't start another fight," Tristan begged.
"I'm not a fool," Morgon said. "I won the game, didn't I?" His face was still, his eyes distant, steady on Eliard's face. "Kern of Hed, the Prince with the cabbage on his crownЕ"
"Don't changeЕ"
"I'm not. Kern of Hed, in addition to being the only Prince of Hed besides me to own a crown, had the dubious fortune of being pursued one day by a Thing without a name. Perhaps it was the effects of Herun wine. The Thing called his name over and over. He ran from it, going into his house of seven rooms and seven doors, and locking each door behind him until he came to the inmost chamber, where he could run no farther. And he heard the sound of one door after another being torn open, and his name called each time. He counted six doors opened, his name called six times. Then, outside the seventh door, his name was called again; but the Thing did not touch the door. He waited in despair for it to enter, but it did not. Then he grew impatient, longing for it to enter, but it did not. Finally he reached out, opened the door himself. The Thing was gone. And he was left to wonder, all the days of his life, what it was that had called out to him."
He stopped. Eliard said hi spite of himself, "Well, what was it?"
"Kern didn't open the door. That is the only riddle to come out of Hed. The stricture, according to the Riddle-Masters at Caithnard is this: Answer the unanswered riddle. So I do."
"It's not your business! Your business is farming, not risking your life in a stupid riddle-game with a ghost for a crown that's worthless because you keep it hidden under your bed. Did you think of us, then? Did you go before or after they died? Before or after?"
"After," Tristan said.
Eliard's fist splashed down in a pool of milk. "I knew it."
"I came back."
"Suppose you hadn't?"
"I came back! Why can't you try to understand, instead of thinking as though your brains are made of oak. AtholТs son, with his hair and eyes and visionЕ"
"No!" Tristan said sharply. Eliard's fist, raised and knotted, halted in midair. Morgon dropped his face again against his knees. Eliard shut his eyes.
УWhy do you think I'm so angry?" he whispered.
"I know."
"Do you? EvenЕ even after six months, I still expect to hear her voice unexpectedly, or see him coming out of the barn, or from the fields at dusk. And you? How will I know, now, that when you leave Hed, you'll come back? You could have died in that tower for the sake of a stupid crown and left us watching for the ghost of you, too. Swear you'll never do anything like that again."
"I can't."
"You can."
Morgon raised his head, looked at Eliard. "How can I make one promise to you and another to myself? But I swear this: I will always come back."
"How can youЕ"