"Patrick Rothfuss - Kingkiller 01 - The Name of the Wind" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rothfuss Patrick)

6 Patrick Rothfuss

Cob turned back to the boy. "That's the mystery of the Chandrian," he
explained. "Where do they come from? Where do they go after they've done
their bloody deeds? Are they men who sold their souls? Demons? Spirits?
No one knows." Cob shot Jake a profoundly disdainful look. "Though every
half-wit claims he knows. . . . "
The story fell further into bickering at this point, about the nature of the
Chandrian, the signs that showed their presence to the wary, and whether
the amulet would protect Taborlin from bandits, or mad dogs, or falling off
a horse. Things were getting heated when the front door banged open.
Jake looked over. "It's about time you got in, Carter. Tell this damn fool
the difference between a demon and a dog. Everybody knтАФ" Jake stopped
midsentence and rushed to the door. "God's body, what happened to you?"
Carter stepped into the light, his face pale and smeared with blood. He
clutched an old saddle blanket to his chest. It was an odd, awkward shape, as
if it were wrapped around a tangle of kindling sticks.
His friends jumped off their stools and hurried over at the sight of him.
"I'm fine," he said as he made his slow way into the common room. His eyes
were wild around the edges, like a skittish horse. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
He dropped the bundled blanket onto the nearest table where it knocked
hard against the wood, as if it were full of stones. His clothes were criss-
crossed with long, straight cuts. His grey shirt hung in loose tatters except
where it was stuck to his body, stained a dark, sullen red.
Graham tried to ease him into a chair. "Mother of God. Sit down, Carter.
What happened to you? Sit down."
Carter shook his head stubbornly. "I told you, I'm fine. I'm not hurt that
bad."
"How many were there?" Graham said.
"One," Carter said. "But it's not what you thinkтАФ"
"Goddammit. I told you, Carter," Old Cob burst out with the sort of
frightened anger only relatives and close friends can muster. "I told you for
months now. You can't go out alone. Not even as far as Baedn. It ain't safe."
Jake laid a hand on the old man's arm, quieting him.
"Just take a sit," Graham said, still trying to steer Carter into a chair. "Let's
get that shirt off you and get you cleaned up."
Carter shook his head. "I'm fine. I got cut up a little, but the blood is
mostly Nelly's. It jumped on her. Killed her about two miles outside town,
past the Oldstone Bridge."
A moment of serious silence followed the news. The smith's prentice laid
 The Name of the Wind 7

a sympathetic hand on Carter's shoulder. "Damn. That's hard. She was gen-
tle as a lamb, too. Never tried to bite or kick when you brought her in for
shoes. Best horse in town. Damn. I'm . . ." He trailed off. "Damn. I don't
know what to say." He looked around helplessly.
Cob finally managed to free himself from Jake. "I told you," he repeated,
shaking a finger in Carter's direction. "There's folks out lately that would kill
you for a pair of pennies, let alone a horse and cart. What are you going to
do now? Pull it yourself?"