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

"Gwern." The youth spoke flatly.

"And who are your parents?"

"I have none." Gwern did not seem to find this the least bit remarkable.

"Who were you born of?" asked Alan with more patience than was his wont. "Who was your mother?"

For the first time Gwern hesitated, seeming at a loss. "Earth," he said at last.

Alan frowned and tried another tack. "Where is your home?"

"Earth," Gwern replied.

They all stared at him, not sure whether or not he was deliberately courting Alan's anger. He stared back
at them with eyes like stream-washed stones, indeterminately brown. He was brown all over, his skin a
curious dun, his hair like hazel tips. He was barefoot, and his clothing was of coarse unbleached wool,
when most folk of these peaceful times could afford better. What was he doing in the middle of the
downs, with the-nearest dwelling miles away?

"Take him along home," Hal suggested mildly, "and I'll look him up in the census."

When he was king, Trevyn promised himself, he would set such nuisances in a dungeon for a week or
so, to teach them some respect. Take him along home indeed!

Alan shrugged and turned back to his son, less angry at Trevyn now. "Who struck first?"

"I pulled him away from a horse, and he struck me."

"Pulled him away from a horse? And why? If an elwedeyn horse sees fit to bear him company, lad, you
also had better learn to abide him. The horses are well able to defend themselves, and they're better
judges of men than most chamberlains. Think before you fight, Trevyn." Alan was



disgusted. "So now you have a black eye, and you have lost your hawk. Get on home."

They all rode silently back to the walled city ofLaueroc , with Gwern behind Hal on his elwedeyn
stallion, overrolling meadows where the larks sang through the days. For miles before they came'* to it
they could see the castle anchored on the billowing softness of the downs like a tall ship on a shimmering,
grassy sea. Atop the highest swell its ramparts vaulted skyward, and from its slender turrets floated flags
of every holding in Isle. In every window, even the servants' windows, swung a circle of cut and faceted
glass to catch the sun and send colors flitting about the rooms.

Centuries before, Cuin the Falconer King had raised the fortress at Laueroc with pearly, gold-veined
stone brought all the way from the mountains of Welas. He had not wanted to mar his new demesne with
diggings. The land at Laueroc, in Trevyn's time, was still nearly as scarless as the day it was born. The
castle lay on its bosom like a crystal brooch, and two roads wound away like flat bronze chains. There
were no buildings outside the walls. In the topmost chamber of the westernmost tall tower, athwart the