"Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 1 - To The King A Daughter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

Her teeth closed on the hand she raised to her mouth, and drew blood.
They neededтАФleast of all, nowтАФthe travail that despite her inexperience, she was sure was near upon
her. For as long as possible, she must keep silent.

Then it all became as if some dream had descended upon her, carrying her within it. She heard a shout, a
muffled cry from near to hand, and knew not if it had been she who had raised the outcry or one of her
companions. A boat. Yes, they were on a boat; she knew that much.

The twang of a bowтАФstrong yew, given by the Will of the Above as a weaponтАФcut through the dream.
Between pangs, she spoke, her head bent forward so that she might address the babe she carried within
her.

"Oak and Yew, Ash and RowanтАФtruly yours, my son, my daughter, whomever I carry to the end."

Pain like none she had known before blotted out her world. The sounds of battle went almost unheeded.
She was only faintly aware that men died beside her, that

Has-ard, even with an arrow through him, leaped into the water and with all the strength left in him,
pushed the boat on into the dead gloom of the Bale-Bog, that core of danger. The craft lurched forward
and immediately began dipping into the current, starting to spin. If she had had time, she might have
become ill. Instead, she fainted.

A lifetime later, there came warmth, faint light, a shadow bending over her.

"Push, woman!" commanded that shadow. "Push as we must when we are in your case."

Weakly, she tried to obey, willing to answer any order that might put an end to her torment. Pressure.
The slippery feeling of something departing her body.

Then she felt herself likewise slipping away. Darkness began closing in, but not before she heard a voice,
far off and very faint.

"A girl childтАФ"

Zazar held the squalling baby aloft in the full light of the hearth fire.

Healthy she was, with lusty cries that spoke well of the infant's chances for survival. Large, tooтАФaye,
one such as this would indeed have nigh torn apart her bearer. A fair fluff now dried on its head, and
already it gazed upon the world, its cries temporarily stilled, looking as if for a moment it recognized, with
knowledge beyond its age, where it was. And perhaps why it was.

"The woman be dead." The crooked-legged crone who served the Wysen-wyf looked at her mistress.
With her thumb, she indicated the body. "She was quality folk, but we all come to the same end sooner
or later. Do we give the babe also to the underwater-eaters? Joal will not take kindly to the sheltering of
Outlander."

Zazar, proceeding after the fashion, which had been hers for years, washed the baby and wrapped it in
the softest of her woven reed-fluff blankets. "We need a tit. Use the bottle on the second shelf," she said,
as if she had not even heard