"R. Garcia y Robertson - Firebird" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robertson R Garcia Y)

Dragging the weary charger away from rest and water, she doubled back on their original tracks. Anyone
seeing the return prints would have no reason to search out the cave, and would follow the trail she was
making. Katya felt confident she could lose themтАФthese were her woods.

When she had put distance between herself and the spring, she found a swift brook and splashed along it,
letting the running water hide their trail. Spotting a good place to leave the streamтАФa rock shelf that
would not take hoof printsтАФshe deliberately passed it by. Downstream from the rock shelf she let the
horse stray, making tracks on the bank, then leading him back into the water, and up onto the opposite
bank. When she was satisfied with her false trail, she carefully retreated upstream, leading the horse out
over the rocks, trying her utmost not to leave tracks.

She stayed on hard ground until she was well out of sight of the stream, and could no longer hear its
rippling. Then she tied the horse to a tree and went back alone. Walking as lightly as she could, she
covered up any sign of the horseтАЩs passing, smoothing over stray prints, and sprinkling dust where they
had wet the rocks. When she reached the stream, she whispered her spell, lying down to watch.

She waited, her heart beating against the hard stone. On the far side of the stream she saw a splendid
spider web, shot with rainbows. Worth coming back for when she was not so busy. In the meantime she
thought about her knight. He had a funny foreign way of talking, but that only made him more special. He
had a good heart as well, she knew by the way he spoke to her. He even seemed to like her, though that
was a lot to hope for.

First she heard warning callsтАФthe indignant chatter of a red squirrel, the rasping cry of a frightened pine
tit. Followed by the voices of men, and the neighing of their horses. They came slowly downstream,
searching both banks, looking for the spot where she left the water.

One huge fellow in half-armor and big bucket-topped riding boots urged his mount up onto the rock
shelf, coming so close she could count the flanges on the heavy steel mace hanging from his saddle bow.
Matted hair and flecks of blood clung to the sharp steel. He wore his sallet tipped back, searching the
ground for tracks. His hard bearded face could not compare to the clean elegant features of Sir Roy
dтАЩRoye, Chevalier de lтАЩEtoile. But his surcoat had the same embattled blue bend as her
knightтАЩsтАФcharged with a sable crescent, the badge of Prince Sergey Mikhailovich, Grand Duke of
Ikstra. Crown Prince IvanтАЩs belligerent uncle. She held her breath as he studied the spot where she led
the charger out of the stream. Did he see something? A crushed leaf or overturned stone? The scrape
mark of a steel shoe?

Calls came from downstream. They had found her false trail. Prince SergeyтАЩs man-at-arms turned his
horse about, splashing back into the stream. She was safeтАФfor now. When the calls faded into the
forest, she slid back off the rocks, and carefully made her way to where she had tethered the horse. The
Witch would scold her if she did not return soon with her bark basket full of herbs and fungus.

As she set out, clouds of little white butterflies whirled up from patches of sunlight, fluttering between the
horseтАЩs legs, then darting off between the trees. The deeper she went into the woods, the less she
worried about hiding her trail. The only warning calls were for her. At the head of Long Lake, she saw
wild swans swimming on clear water fringed by pines.

Beyond the lake the pine wood ended. On the far side stood a forest of black iron trunks with stark
metal branchesтАФthe Iron WoodтАФa cold dark barrier reeking of magic, stretching over the hills to the
east, lifeless and forbidding. She led the reluctant horse into the black leafless wood. Spiked branches
closed around her, and forest sounds faded. No woodpeckers beat at the hard metal bark. No squirrels