"Nancy Springer - Isle 03 - The Sable Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Springer Nancy)

he was the Islendais King. He made some humble protestations, suitably
 flattering to Einon's hospitality, and finally the two of them agreed that Alan should work off his debt of
freeloading, as the old lord saw it. So Alan went to help in the kitchen, and a couple of weeks later, when
Winterfest came, he was still at it.

There was mot much giving of gifts in that pinched household, but there was a feast of sorts. Alan was
appointed to carry the dishes to the lord's table, since he made such a fine, golden sight, and since the
lord took some pleasure in seeing him kneel. And just as he presented the roast pork, a minstrel rode into
the hall. He sent his horse right up to the foot of the dais, in the best old bardic tradition, and in his arms
he carried a finely carved plinset, the stringed instru┬мment esteemed by the Blessed Kings. The silver
horse was so beautiful that everyone blinked, and somehow the minstrel shone, too, though he was
dressed plainly enough. It was Hal, of course, back from his courtly rounds and checking on his
comrade. Alan had to duck his head so that no one would see him smile.

"Greetings, Einon, son of Eread, lord of Caerronan," the minstrel proclaimed in the purest speech of the
old court of Welas, without a trace of Isle in his voice or of mischief on his face. Hal was a master of
sober statesmanship.

"Greetings," Einon snapped. "Are you a minstrel or a thief? Where did you get that horse?"

"It was given to me by the King of Isle, for my surpassing excellence in the tuneful arts."

"The more fool, he," the old lord growled. "I've always said those Kings of Isle must be fools, the two of
them halving a throne between them, and never any gold of mine they'd see to spend on horses! You'll
get no horse from me, minstrel. If you sing here, you must sing for your supper."

"Willingly," Hal replied, and dismounted, and sent Arundel to the stable, and tuned his plinset. After a
while he plucked it, and sang, and the whole clattering hall quieted at the sound of his voice. He sang the
great lays of Welas first, the stories of Veran and Claefe, and their twins Brand and Brenna who flew
with the ravens for a season, and the story of an Islender, Alf Longshanks, who won the fair and willful
Deona away from the royal court at Welden. All old songs,



but he sang them into springtime newness, sending bright notes flying like birds through the hall. Servants
set food before Hal, then, from the lord's own table, but he took no time to eat. He sang songs that no
one had heard before, his own songs, of love and the Lady, and the white, foaming horses of the sea┬╗
and Elwestrand. Einon never moved, but Alan saw tears slide down the grooves of the old lord's face.

Finally Hal stopped singing. Lord Einon spoke a single word. "More." But Hal shook his head and
reached for his wine.

"More!" Einon urged, and undid the jeweled pin from his velvet cap, tossed it to the minstrel. So Hal
flexed his fingers and played again. He sang about the lost fountains of Eburacon. He sang of valiant
Bevan, the star-son, who strove with Pel Blagden, the Mantled God. He sang of Ylim, the seeress,
weaving prophecy in her hidden valley. He sang of Queen Gwynllian. All the food sat cooling on the
tables, and no one ate. The servants had gathered in the shadows, not moving. After a while, Hal
stopped again, and Einon exclaimed, "More!" and tossed him a golden ring.

All that night Hal played and sang, and no one left the hall. The servants settled to seats on the floor after