"Douglas Niles - Forgotten Realms - Moonshae 02 - Black Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

by Friair Nolan, the cleric of Corwell Town. King Kendrick would be given a
funeral befitting a leader of the Ffolk before being laid to rest in the royal
barrow.
With growing grief, Tristan tried to accept his father's death. The knowledge
did not seem to remain with him. For a time the truth would recede, and then,
unexpectedly, would stab at Tristan with greater and greater force. Sometimes
the pain was nearly unbearable.
"Where's Daryth?" he finally asked, trying hard to pull himself together.
"He was leading the search," replied Randolph.
Tristan turned to look at the door to his father's room. The captain of the
guard started wearily toward the door.
Tristan heard the door shut, and then he looked outside again. A whirlwind of
thoughts assaulted him. He struggled with guilt and uncertainty. Why had his
last moments with his father been angry ones? And what would happen to him, to
the kingdom? Now that his father was gone, Tristan began to realize how much
he had depended on him. A brooding sense of loneliness threatened to overwhelm
him, and he thought wistfully of Robyn, so far away. He longed for her
presence more desperately than ever. Impatiently he paced the floor, wishing
Daryth would return. Finally, he flopped into a chair and stared into the
long-dead coals in the fireplace.
Practical thoughts pushed through his emotional storm. Messengers had already
been dispatched to the cantrev
DOUGLAS NILES
lords of Corwell. These lords would arrive posthaste, and a council to
determine the future of Corwell would convene. A new king would be selected.
The thought of the pudgy Lord Koart or the greedy Lord Pontswain sitting in
his father's place revolted Tristan. Of all the petty leaders of the lands of
Corwell, the prince could think of none worthy to sit upon the royal throneтАФto
be his lord. It's my father's place, he thought, just my father's. Or maybe,
nowтАФmaybe my own. . . .
Angrily he sprang to his feet, stalking to the window as he realized how
dramatically his own feelings had changed in the last few hours.
Looking into the orange dawn, Tristan faced the truth that, hours earlier, he
had argued vehemently against: he wanted, very much, to be the next king of
Corwell.
Robyn gasped as she knelt beside the frail figure. An unfocused fear prevented
her from touching him.
As she finally reached forward to turn the man onto his back, his eyes
squinted against the sky. He gibbered something that was not even vaguely
speech, and she saw that his tongue was swollen and cracked. She quickly
grabbed the nearby water flask, pouring a few drops between the man's chapped
lips.
"Don't touch him!" Newt warned. "He looks dangerous! I don't trust him!" For
the first time, Robyn noticed that the little dragon had dived for cover under
a pile of leaves when the stranger arrived. Buried up to the eyeballs, he
stared watchfully at the pair of humans.
"Oh, hush," she chastised, pouring more water into the man's gaping mouth.
He coughed and choked spasmodically, but eagerly licked the droplets from his
lips, straining to raise his head for more. Robyn gently moved his head back
to the grass, offering him another splash of water.