"Springer, Nancy - Book Of The Isle 3 - Sable Moon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Springer Nancy)

"Farewell, Mother," Trevyn murmured, and embraced her hastily. Rosemary stood among the horses, her russet head bowed to Arundel's neck; Trevyn knew she was hardly aware of his departure. But Gwern stood silently by. Trevyn froze with one foot on the boarding plank, feeling suddenly, absurdly, naked and incomplete. Gwern, whom he had wanted so badly to begone-Gwern had not moved from his place.
"Nay, I cannot leave earth. You must sail alone." Gwern stolidly answered the unspoken question. A hint of pain shadowed the clay like mask of his face, and Trevyn found himself utterly taken aback, astounded by that pain, astounded by the answering pang that put its grip on him.
"I didn't know," he whispered.
"Stay, then," urged Alan.
"Nay, I must go." Hesitantly, Trevyn offered Gwern his hand, and the barefoot, brown-haired youth gripped it without comment. Trevyn turned and strode onto the gilded ship.
"He kept his head low, but Alan saw the tears that streaked his face. The ship started from its place like a hound unleashed, churned away from the shore. Alan put his arm around Lysse-to give comfort or to receive? He raised his hand in salute to his son. Gwern stood like a stump.
"All good come to you, Beloved!" Lysse called.
Trevyn straightened and waved to them. They watched after him until the ship turned the headland and was lost to view, vanishing like spook lamps into the dusk.
"A wolf is an animal that roams the night and sings to the moon," Lysse said softly. "There is no great harm to it."
"East!" Alan muttered. "The wolf-boat goes east. No good lies that way."

It was not until weeks later that the goodwife found Trevyn's brooch among Meg's belongings. Fluttering, she summoned her husband. They hated to scold Megan, for she had turned silent and moody since the Prince had gone away. But the brooch was valuable, and they were frightened.
"Ye cannot keep this, Meg!" the goodman cried. "Likely 'tis solid gold!"
'"Tis mine. He gave it to me."
"He only lent it t'ye! Did he say for ye to keep it?"
"If he wanted it back, he could have come for it."
"Who are ye to say where he must come or go? He is the Prince! Why would he give ye such a thing? Folk will say ye stole it!"
Meg had looked sullenly down, but now she straightened and flared back at her father. "What was I to do? Run to his castle, peradventure, and beg an audience?"
"Ay, daughter, 'twas a hard spot, that I'll not deny." Brock's voice was softer. "Still, ye should not have hid it away. We must take it to the lord; 'twill be safer with him."
Rafe regarded Meg with compassion while Brock told the tale. He had last seen her in a dress fit for a princess, glowing with the beauty that only love gives. Now she silently stared at the floor, and Rafe could see that her cheeks were pale. The pallor of love withheld, he judged.
Goodman Brock could not be less than honest. "And there is the cloak, my lord, as well," he concluded. The girl's eyes flashed up, and Rafe quickly hid the pity in his own, for he knew she would not welcome it.
"I think there is no need to say anything of the cloak." Rafe saw, without appearing to see, Meg's relief; this remembrance at least would be left to her. "I know my liege, and I am certain he would not begrudge it to you. But this brooch"-Rafe turned it delicately in his hands-"bears the emblem of the Sun Crowns. The King must know of its whereabouts." Rafe climbed down from his audience chair and headed toward a table where lay parchment, pen and ink, sand, and sealing wax. "Come, Meg, let us write a letter to Trevyn's father."

Within a week, a messenger came to Laueroc and presented to the King the following curious missive:
On this, the ides of May, in the Nineteenth year of his reign, to Alan, Heir of Laueroc, and Rightful and Most Gracious Ruler of Isle, Greeting.
It being that a thing I hold may not be mine in truth, I hereby state my willingness to relinquish it, obedient to the word of my Liege and King.
It being that my lord the Prince graciously lent me his brooch to fasten a cloak thereby, and his returning not therefor, I have cherished the brooch on his account until this time.
It being that this brooch is of precious substance and molded in the likeness of the Royal Emblem, I have rendered it into the safe keeping of my lord Rafe of Lee until my Liege the King has seen fit to judge the ownership thereof.
With many thanks to my lord the Prince for his gracious favors on my behalf, and especially for the sake of the cow Molly.
Your humble servant, Megan By-the-woods. By the hand of her good lord, Rafe of Lee.
Alan read this three times, then stumped off to find Lysse.
"What do you make of this?"
She read it and handed it back with a wistful smile. "Poor lass. I wonder what she is like."
"Either very honest, or else commending herself to our attention. Can he have got her with child, do you think?"
"I think-I would have felt such a child."
"Perhaps." Alan sighed. "Well, Rafe can tell us if anything is amiss. I will have him send the brooch to us."

"Nay." Lysse laid her hand on his arm. "Let the girl keep it."
He looked at her in surprise. "Whatever for?"
"There will be hard times ahead for all of us." She faced him steadily. "Hard enough for you and me, my love, but we have much to sustain us. It may be that-she does not have so much."
Alan cupped her chin in his hand and regarded her closely. "Have you seen something?"
"Nay, nothing clearly. It is only feeling."
He knew that feeling. His life had been a long battle with such heavy feeling since Hal and Trevyn had left. Call it foreboding, but not yet so dark that it benighted his thoughtful curiosity. He penned a reply to Rafe, commending the girl to his watchful care, then placed Meg's letter in his files. Months later, he still remembered her name.

Book Two
MOTHER OF MERCY

Chapter One
This gaudy craft was a dead thing, Trevyn decided, with no power of its own. Certainly it was not a living, swimming being like the elf-ship he had seen. He felt no vitality in its timbers, as often as he lay and lost himself in study of the mystery of its motion. He could discern no surge from behind or below, no gathering of heart at the bottom of the billow or of breath at the top. As the weeks went by, Trevyn became certain that the source of the power lay far ahead. He was in a bright bauble drawn by invisible wires, smacking crudely against the waves, for ail the world like a child's toy being dragged across a vast watery yard. He thanked the One that the sea remained calm.
As yet, Trevyn had known nothing of the nausea that makes sea crossings a misery. To pass the time, and to keep from growing weak with the long voyage, he exercised for hours every day. Then he paced the deck as he studied the sky and sea. His course was to the south and east. Every morning at daybreak the rays of the rising sun haloed the hulking form of the wolfish figurehead. To Trevyn it seemed unfair, even treasonous, that the emblem of his father's royal greatness should bedeck the wolf, which to him had become a