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

has come to us. Who or what can he be, I wonder? I don't really expect to find him in the census."
 As, in fact, he could not. So Gwern stayed on at the castle; the Lauerocs kept him there for want of
anything better to do with him. The peculiar youth did not seem suited for any work, but Alan claimed he
was no more useless than most of the other courtiers. He was fey, sometimes shouting and singing with
barbaric abandon, sometimes brooding. He always went barefoot, even in the chill of late autumn, and
often he slept outdoors, beyond the city walls, on the ground. He generally looked dirty and uncombed.
He observed few niceties. If he spoke at all, he spoke with consummate accuracy and no tact. But he
was handsome, in his earthy way, and the castle folk seemed to find him amusing, even attractive. Trevyn
fervently disliked him. Striving as he was for adolescent poise, he found Gwern's very existence an
affront.

Yet, with no malice that Trevyn could prove, Gwern attached himself to the Prince, following him
everywhere. Often they would fightтАФonly with fists, since Gwern knew nothing of swordplay. Trevyn
could hold his own, but he never succeeded in driving Gwern away from him. The mud-colored youth
confronted him like an embodied force, inscrutable and haphazard as wind or rainclouds, leaving only by
his own unpredictable whim.

"Father," Trevyn begged, "make him stop hounding me. Please."

"You'll see worse troubles before you die," Alan replied. "Find your own cure for it, Trevyn." He loved
his son to the point of heartache, but Trevyn would be King. Above all, he must not become soft or
spoiled. Alan had seen to his training



in statesmanship, swordsmanship, horsemanship. . . . The discipline was no more than Alan expected of
himself, his own body trim and tough, his days given over to royal duty, early and late. So when Trevyn
saluted, soldierlike, and silently left the room, Alan could not fault his conduct. Great of heart that he was,
it did not occur to him that Trevyn showed too little of the heart, that he concealed too much.

Trevyn was almost able to hide his anger even from himself, minding his manners and tending to his
lessons as Gwern dogged him through the crisp days of early winter. But frustration swirled and seethed
through his thoughts like a buried torrent. In time Trevyn found Gwern obstinately intruding-even into his
dreams at night. Gwern and a unicorn; Gwern standing at the prow of an elf-ship, with the sea wind in his
face. . . .

"I!" Trevyn shouted in his sleep.

He felt sure that Gwern longed to go to Elwestrand, as he did. But he swore that it was he, Prince
Trevyn, who would go, and alone, and to return, as no one had done before him. Someday he would do
that. But he could not possibly take ship before spring. The winter stretched endlessly ahead.

Trevyn did not stay for winter. When the first snowstorm loomed, he slipped from his bed by night and
made his way to the stable. He loaded food and blankets onto Arundel, Hal's elwedeyn charger, the
oldest and wisest of the royal steeds. The walls and gates were lightly guarded, for it was peace┬мtime,
and who would look for trouble in the teeth of a storm? Warmly dressed, Trevyn rode out of a postern
gate into the dark and the freezing wind. By morning even Gwern would not be able to follow him.

It was so. Dawn showed snow almost a foot deep, and more still falling, blindingly thick, in the air. Folk
struggled even to cross the courtyard. It was nearly midday before Alan could believe that Trevyn was