"Andrew J. Offutt - Cormac 01 - The Mists of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

manner. More, he had risen and taken a step aside. He stared at the darkness between the edges of the
cowl, but the light of three glims showed him only the tip of a nose. The visitor did have a face, then.
тАЬWellтАФopen it!тАЭ
With apologetic face and attitude, the tawnyhaired man rapped twice, paused while he counted mentally to
twice ten as his most noble lord had decreed, and opened the door. It swung inward. The young man turned
back just in time to wrap his fingers automatically about the candle the visitor had thrust at him.
With a whisper of his robes, the walker in the fog passed into a room alight with no less than four candles;
servingmaids would certainly be at the collecting of that wax, later! He paused as if to make certain the door
closed securely behind himself; it did. He was in a broad room of red yew, speckled with copper rivets and
with floor-to-ceiling hangings on two walls, warmly dark and richly woven and broidered with scrollwork and
fanciful animals and twining flowers.
In a carven chair behind a table set near the dancing hearth-fire a man sat, and he lifted his russet-haired
head to gaze upon his visitor. High was this manтАЩs forehead, for his hair was thinning atop even as at the
temple grey usurped the rusty red, and had departed to the breadth of two fingers beyond the hairline of his
youth. Jowly his face, though he was paunchy, not fat. Fog-grey eyes fixed their stare on the intruder upon
his guarded, fire-warmed solitude, the seated man alone in the loosegirt robe of silver-trimmed darkest blue,
collared with beaver. On his chest a broad necktorc seemed to have grown, become a carcanet studded with
jewels and traced with a design of honeysuckle vine picked out in red gold. The overgrown muin-torch
depended even onto his pectorals. His ten fingers bore five rings, and one of gold and coral center-set with a
large carbuncle; was the mate of the ring on the guestтАЩs finger.
The latter threw back his cowl with both hands, staff under his arm; the man by the fire smiled. His deep blue
robe was split at each elbow and edged there with beaver fur; from those slashes emerged his arms in
sleeves of white.
тАЬA fine disguise, Milchu. Come, warm yourself. Indech!тАЭ
The seated man called out the last word, whereupon his visitor instantly restored his hood. Behind the door
opened; the seated man looked past his guest.
тАЬMulled aleтАФno, mulled wine, Indech. And knock first!тАЭ
тАЬAt once, lord King.тАЭ
The door closed solidly. The robed man called Milchu moved to the fire.
тАЬItтАЩs no talking weтАЩll do till the wineтАЩs after being brought, Milchu,тАЭ the king said. тАЬAdd a few oak knots if yeтАЩre
of a mind to. But itтАЩs not for patience IтАЩm known. Ye bring much information?тАЭ
тАЬMuch information, HighтАФтАЭ Milchu broke off in a coughтАФтАЬking of Eirrin.тАЭ
тАЬBodes it ill or else for Lugaid mac Laegair?тАЭ
Clearing his throat repeatedly, Milchu tossed several chunky oaktree knots onto the fire. тАЬWhen the wine
comes, Lugaid mac Laegair.тАЭ His voice was strained; he coughed again.
тАЬNo night for being abroad, robed or no,тАЭ High-king Lugaid said.
And they were silent, the High-king fretting restlessly with the handle of a tall mug on the table before him.
Moulded as a fanciful beast was that long thin handle, though the bear thus represented was necessarily long
and thin of body, and its ears rose unnaturally long and pointed: The bronze tankard was inlaid about the
base with two rows of rectangles in green and red enamel; superbly carven coral formed a knotwork design
betwixt the rows of rectangles. LugaidтАЩs ringed fingers seemed to wrestle with the bronze bear.
Come the knock they awaited; High-king Lugaid son of High-king Laegair loudly called тАЬEnterтАЭ rather than wait
those thirty or so heartbeats he had mandated as wait between knock and entry.
Immediately Indech of the green leggings hurried a sizable pottery jug and two mugs over to the table. He
bowed, set them down, looked his question. Receiving an equally silent reply by gesture, he poured both
mugs full of dark golden liquid from which rose tendrils of steam. Indech glanced at the fire, seeing that it was
blazing up all yellow and snapping. He looked again at his lord. Lugaid waved a hand: With another bowтАФand
a glance at Milchu, who stood by the fire with his back to the roomтАФIndech departed the chamber with its
rush-strewn floor and cold-absorbing hangings over the fine red wood of the yew-tree.
The door closed on him. Milchu turned from the fire. Again with both hands he shot back the druidic cowl. He