"Irene Radford - Merlins Descendents 01 - Guardian Of The Balance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Radford Irene)

the boys at Lord EctorтАЩs stronghold, Stinger, Boar, and Ceffyl were closest to him in age.
Curyll had used DaтАЩs traveling name rather than his real nameтАФthat was reserved for the other Druids. We were all
birds. Merlin, small falcon. Curyll, a much bigger and fiercer hawk. And I was the little brown Wren, not much to look
at, but a very sweet singerтАФI hoped. The other boys had animal names. They werenтАЩt birds. Bards and birds were
special.
тАЬCuryll.тАЭ Da waved to the boy. тАЬGood hunting today.тАЭ He pressed my back, urging me forward. I ran ahead, eagerly.
Curyll wore hunting leathers. A brace of birds hung from his belt. HeтАЩd slung two more across his back on a thong. He
smelled of sweat and earth and crushed grass. A bright cap confined his usually tangled hair. The late afternoon
sunshine peeking beneath the growing cloud cover picked gold and silver out of the sandstone color. I never tired of
watching sunlight dance colors through his hair.
Lord Ector wouldnтАЩt let Curyll have lessons because he didnтАЩt speak. But Curyll could trounce all of his foster brothers
with sword and lance. His big hands seemed just the right size to cradle a fledgling bird without ruffling a feather. And
he always treated me with kindness when his foster brothers were too rough with a small girl child who didnтАЩt belong
to the fortress. I knew Curyll was as smart as his foster brothers. They tolerated his supposed stupidity because he
was the orphaned son of a respected warlord. I loved him for himself.
Curyll greeted me with a hug and picked me up and swung me in a wide circle. Only thirteen, he carried me easily. His
back would be almost as good to ride upon as one of the shaggy dogs who stood taller than I did. He smelled better
than wet dog fur, too.
тАЬSit beasts!тАЭ Da said to the dogs. Brenin and the other hounds continued sniffing DaтАЩs leather leggings and boots,
catching up on all the gossipy scents heтАЩd gathered in the last year. тАЬI said sit!тАЭ Da fingered his gold torc with his left
hand and pointed at BreninтАЩs nose with his right. All four dogs sat and stared obediently at Da.
Curyll and I giggled. No one else, including Curyll, could command the hunting hounds so well.
Our joy at seeing each other couldnтАЩt overcome my cold. I sneezed. Messily. But Curyll didnтАЩt flinch or drop me in
disgust. He shifted his grip on me so that I could wipe my nose once more.
While I mopped my nose and his shoulder, he spoke again. тАЬLlтАФLlyтАФ,тАЭ he stopped, unable to force out the next
words.
тАЬDid Llygad have puppies?тАЭ I asked, noticing the fifth dog missing from the pack. Llygad belonged to Boar, but she,
like the other hounds, looked to Curyll as leader of the pack.
He nodded, smiling that I understood.
I giggled at the prospect of playing with a dozen wiggling bundles of fur. A deep frown replaced CuryllтАЩs grin, and he
set me downтАФnot ungently, but with little warmth.
тАЬI didnтАЩt mean it, Curyll. I laughed at the puppies, not you. I promise IтАЩll never laugh at you.тАЭ I spun in a circle on my
toes to seal the promise. Circles have no beginning and no end, and neither does a promise. He hugged me again.
тАЬCome.тАЭ Da herded us toward Lord EctorтАЩs caer. Long shadows stretched out from the battlements. тАЬThe sun is near
to setting and clouds gather. WeтАЩd best hurry or miss our supper.тАЭ
тАЬA-ah-тАЭ Curyll halted our progress. He blushed and gulped before making elaborate motions with his hands. He
signed the cross of the Christian god, then placed his palms together in front of him as if in prayer. тАЬPriest?тАЭ Da
interpreted.
My stomach turned cold. I had thought Lord Ector would protect us from the Christians who threw stones.
Curyll nodded at Da, then made motions as if eating but then stopped and made the signal to halt.
тАЬHas Ector invited a priest to supper and we must stay in the kitchen?тАЭ DaтАЩs face turned dark with an anger that
frightened me. His blue eyes, the same color as the sky at midnight, darkened to the uncertain froth of a storm-ravaged
sea. (IтАЩd heard that phrase in one of DaтАЩs hero ballads and liked it.) Curyll hung his head in apology. I edged toward
my friend and tried to hide behind him. As I edged around, I noticed he didnтАЩt wear his warriorтАЩs torc about his neck. A
torc was more than a piece of jewelry. The circle of metal was a symbol of manhood and a personтАЩs status in the
community. Warriors never removed theirs. Curyll had won his last autumn in a tournament. Boar hadnтАЩt won his torc
until a month later. Stinger and Ceffyl were a year younger, and I didnтАЩt know if they had won theirs yet or not.
Da grasped the fat end of his own golden torc in a familiar gesture. His grip seemed to help him master his anger. His
temper hadnтАЩt sent magic flying from his fingers. He continued, тАЬWhy a priest, Curyll? Your foster father has always
been faithful to the Goddess and the old ways.тАЭ Curyll pointed to his tongue and dropped his gaze to the heather. тАЬI