"Melanie Rawn - Dragon Star 3 - Skybowl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rawn Melanie)

taken.
Skybowl.
Andry let Evarin sleep himself out. When the young man finally woke on his own at midmorning, hot
taze and toasted bread and cheese were waiting for him. The physician ate,
tended to his own and Andry's wounds, and pronounced them fit for travel.
"Elktrap?" he asked as Andry hoisted him into the saddle.
"I'd rather go straight on to Feruche if you can make it." Taking the reins, he started walking.
Though Radzyn horses were strong, this one still favored his near foreleg a bit.
Just past noon they reached a shortcut Andry remembered from a map. No need to trust his memory,
though; the trail was trampled down, clearly visible. Alasen had come through only yesterday. No
subsequent rain or snowfall obscured the tracks.
A sluggish breeze began to stir halfway through a gray afternoon. Measure after measure, Andry put
one foot in front of the other, ignoring the throbbing in his head, refusing to consider what was
and what might be. Eventually he was unable to think past the next step. His body was beyond
weariness, numb with cold; his mind found comfort in sodden exhaustion.
But what was permissible and even desirable for him was not allowed his horse. They might have
continued by dark, a fingerflame lighting their way, but the stallion was exhausted and limping
badly. So when the pale, stubborn glow of the sun was a fingerspan above the western crags, Andry
called a halt.
Evarin stirred blearily in the saddle. "We there yet?"
"No. I have to build a shelter while there's light enough to work. You're tonight's cook. Surely
all those years of brewing potions qualifies you."
Evarin rallied a little as he was helped off the horse. "Febrifuges and eye ointments aren't
stuffed venison with moss-berry sauce. I can boil water."
"That's more than Sioned can do." He settled his friend on a flat rock cleared of snow. "I know, I
know, a princess isn't expected to cook. But she can't even brew a drinkable cup of taze. Speaking
of which, here's a pot, and there's the snow. I'll be back soon."
Andry left the saddlebags where Evarin could reach them, tethered the horse, and started off into


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the trees. Snow would be thin on the ground beneath the gigantic pines, and he had every
expectation of finding branches suitable for his purpose. He had collected nearly a dozenтАФneedles
still green, limbs still supple enough to bendтАФwhen he came upon a rabbit burrow. He'd never been
much good at hunting large
game, but he'd caught plenty of sand-nesting creatures in his childhood. Rabbits couldn't be much
more difficult.
He was wrong.
Sighing, he cast aside the stick he'd been using in a doomed attempt to coax the bleating animal
from its den. So much for rabbit stew tonight. But on his way back, lugging heavy branches, he had
the good fortune to find a brave, bedraggled clump of wolfpaw growing around a tiny frozen pond.
Everything about the plants, from golden-brown flowers to pulpy root, was edible, nourishing, and
delicious when soaked in wine. Hoping Evarin hadn't drunk all of what he'd liberated from Pol's
cellars, he crouched down to harvest dinner.
The pond was no more than a puddle, barely an armspan across, and the trees formed nothing
resembling a circle. But all at once Andry sat back on his heels, breathing hard. The stones
rimming the pool had been set there deliberately.
He'd heard of two tree-circles in his life: one near Goddess Keep, the other close to the ruins of