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

"Ay?" Meg wondered cheerfully. "How so?"
"That is as it comes," Trevyn countered. "What does your -name mean, Megan?"
"Not a thing." She grinned wickedly. "We're common folk here."
Trevyn almost flushed, feeling a hint of reproach, but Meg went on unconcernedly. "What brings ye to Lee, Trevyn?"
He laughed. "Arundel! He brought me through the snow straight to the manor gates, and very surprised Rafe was to see me! I would have perished in the storm if it weren't for him. He is a marvelous horse. Twenty years ago he carried my uncle through far stranger perils in this same Great Forest and beyond."
Bemused, Meg let it pass that he had not really answered her question. "Then was yer uncle an outlaw as well?"
"He joined with the outlaws of the southern Forest after they had saved his life. Arundel brought him to them nearly dead from tortures in the Dark Tower of the evil kings."
Meg shuddered. "And he met yer father then?"
"A bit later. They did not know that they were brothers. Hal had been raised as King Iscovar's heir, but really his father was the lord of Laueroc."
"Folk say that King Iscovar killed Leuin of Laueroc and the Queen."
"Ay, and he would have liked to bend my uncle to his will. Hal roamed the land constantly to elude him, with my father as his blood brother and companion. Your lord Rafe was their friend, too, in those times; they met him and Queen Rosemary at Celydon. And they traveled to the Northern Barrens, and into Welas, the west land, and even to Veran's Mountain, where they met my kindred, the elves."

"Elves!" Megan bounced excitedly. "I thought that was just-singing, y'know."
"Nay, the elves are real. But all of them except my mother have sailed to Elwestrand, a land beyond the western sea." A faraway look filled Trevyn's eyes. "Hal sang of Elwestrand long before he knew it existed anywhere but in his mind."
Meg grappled in vain for an answer to this. Trevyn had that look sometimes that can make a woman weep, sad eyes and a smiling mouth. . . . But other times he had the look of eagles. After a moment he went on.
"When Iscovar died, Hal and his followers ousted the evil lords, and my mother gave up her immortality to marry my father. Those were strange times for him; he had never expected to be a King. But when Hal found out they were brothers, he found Father his crown. Hal had never wanted power anyway, though it was fated on him."
"How so?" Meg sat agape at this matter-of-fact talk of elves and destinies.
"It was written in The Book of Suns, the prophecies of the One. The Book made their kinship clear, and told them that Hal would have no heir."
"I saw him once, and Queen Rosemary, as they rode to Celydon," Meg remarked. " Tis a shame they've no children. But ye're lucky ye've no cousins or brothers to fight ye for the throne."
"I wish I had a dozen," Trevyn grumbled. "And they could have the throne, and welcome."
"Why?" asked Meg, not at all disconcerted.
"Never mind." Trevyn smiled in spite of himself. "Save your breath to cool your porridge, Meg."
"And let ye spend yers to swell yer wings of fancy? Ye're so bursting with portents and mysteries, how is a poor girl to know the way of it?"
He had to laugh at her. It was a relief to see his forebodings as nonsense, even for a moment. Meg's teasing was a balm on spirits too often darkened since the fight with the wolves.
Meg had long since learned that fellows liked her best if she jested with them. When she did it well, they could forget that she was a skinny, plain-faced maid and treat her simply as a

friend. So she had no sweethearts, but at least she had male
company at the occasional social affairs of the countryside.
Her brave show fooled no one, not even herself. But she
made the best of what she had: a quick mind and a droll wit.
And when the Prince came, she bantered with him as was her
wont.
He had known no such easy companionship from the youths and maidens of Laueroc. They had shied from his rank and his elfin strangeness. So he found it a relief and a delight to be treated with something less than royal respect. Meg's shafts of wit were never cruel, and she aimed them most often at herself. Trevyn had seen her with the wolves; he knew her courage. Her merciless honesty concerning her own shortcomings was a different kind of courage, he thought, and he admired her for it.
"No doubt the bards will sing of how ye pulled the fair maiden from the mud hole," Meg mused. "They hold forth about everything ye Lauerocs do."
"No doubt," Trevyn gravely agreed.
'"Twill be known, of course, that they speak of Molly," Meg added. "As she is young, and has not yet calved."
Trevyn never tired of listening to her. He had met many kinds of women in his young life: high-scented foreign princesses, chilly court maidens, flirtatious servant girls. None of them had tempted him to more than a quick conquest. But this fine-boned, birdlike creature, bright and cheeky as a sparrow, drew him back to her again and again. He had felt for her small breast once, wondering what she kept beneath her shapeless peasant blouse, and she had pushed his hand away. "Nay, Trev," she had told him, not even angrily, only with a certainty he could not question. He did not try again, but he came to see her even more often than before. All his life he had dreamed of finding a friendship such as Hal and Alan shared, or of finding a true love. . . . But he told himself that this Megan, this homely, comical maid, was nothing more than a diversion to him. He liked to be diverted, and certainly the girl did not mind.
He was thoughtless, as Brock had feared. Otherwise he might have known how his face floated before her inward eye

day and night. He should have known how he inspired her love, he who was the talk of every lass in the countryside. But it must be said that Megan hid her love well. Once she had showed fondness for a youth, and it had driven him away. Brave though he thought her to be, she would not risk showing her heart to the Prince. She fed her soul merely on the sight of him and the memory of his lighthearted words. Sometimes, lying in her bed at night, she silently wept.
"When must you be going, lad?" Rafe asked Trevyn one evening at the manor keep.
"Trying to rid yourself of me?" Trevyn retorted. Though he would talk to Meg for hours, he found little enough to say to his kindly host.
"You know that you're welcome to stay 'the rest of your life." Coming from Rafe, this was not hollow courtesy. "But surely you must be back to Laueroc by Winterfest."
"There will be ill cheer at my home this feast-tide," Trevyn responded sourly. "Nay. I'll stay a while longer."
Rafe gaped, for Trevyn had told him nothing about his troubles with Gwern, or about Hal's strange behavior, or even about the wolves. But the lord of Lee rose to the occasion with the enthusiasm for which he was famous. "Why, we'll make a royal festival of it, then!" He rubbed his hands in delight, for Rafe was as eager as a boy when it came to a frolic. "We'll have a regular carole, with musicians and everything, O Prince, in your honor. It will be just what this poor country place needs for some waking up."
Trevyn smiled, knowing quite well that the manor already buzzed with his presence. "I will invite Meg," he decided.
Rafe cocked a quizzical eye at him, not knowing what to make of the youth's friendship with Meg. The girl was odd, folk said, talked with animals as if they were human. ... Of course, the Lauerocs spoke with animals, too, and possessed many stranger powers, and no one spoke ill of them.
"No harm to little Meg, lad," Rafe asked cautiously, "but why? You could have your pick of many a lass who would do you better credit as a partner."
"But Meg makes me laugh," Trevyn replied.
When he made his request of Meg she answered as