"Nancy Springer - Isle 05 - The Golden Swan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Springer Nancy)

slumber nor rouse him to sense. Trevyn kept his seat, trying for some kind of understanding. It was very
hard to hear emotion in that level voice. A few times there might have been a hint of anger or plea. And
as dark fell I thought I began to hear weariness. NoтАФmore than weariness.

"What is it, Dair?" Trevyn asked me. "You have instincts for many things. What do you think ails him?"

DespairтАФor desperation.

Trevyn nodded and turned to the physician. "Let us try the little yellow flower," he said.

It was called Veran's Crown or Elfin Gold. It had come back to Isle with the other things of wonder,
and it grew everywhere, but it was used only with greatest reverence and hi cases of sore need, for it was
a powerful balm. None was yet in bloom so early in the season, but some was always kept dried in jars.
A single dried plant was brought to Trevyn along with steaming water. He whispered the blessing,
crushed the tiny thing and dropped it into the water. The sweet green smell of it filled the room, the very
smell of peace.

Suddenly I felt that I was a wolf again, a pup, romping by Trevyn's side without a notion of anything
except joy and without a care in the worldтАФI could have wept for knowing it would never again be so,
but at the same time the memory gave me a feeling of utter gladness. I could almost believe that those
days had come back to stay. Those springtime daysтАФthe stranger had quieted, seeming to listen for a
sound only he could hear. Suddenly he sat straight up and turned to the shadowy figure by his
bedsideтАФthe light was very low, so as not to trouble him.

"Tirell?" he asked, or rather, he begged. His voice was no longer steadyтАФit shook with emotion.

"Nay," said Trevyn gently, "it is I, Trevyn, King of Isle."

I brought a candle closer so they could see each other. The red-haired youth looked up in confusion.

"Tirell is King of Vale," he said in a dialect we could understand, a mixed mongrel language called
Traders-tongue. He stared at Trevyn. "WhereтАФI thought I heard Tirell."

"It is the balm," Trevyn told him. "We had to give it to you toтАФcomfort you. It has taken you back to a
place of peace, perhaps the home where you were loved as a child."

"YesтАФthough in truth it was none too peaceful." The youth sank back on his pillows with a sigh, and
when he spoke he had found calm again, it must have been second nature to him. "My name is Frain," he
said. "If this place has a king, I dare say it is not Ogygia."

"I have never heard it called by that name." Trevyn raised his brows. "We call it Isle. How did you come
here, Frain?"

"In a leaky coracle."

We saw you, Isaid. Frain heard it as a growl. He was not one of the special few who remembered, who
could understand me. He gave me a startled, mistrustful look, such as the castlefolk often did.
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