"Judith Tarr - The Isle of Glass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tarr Judith)

so. Even with all his hurts, that was plain to see.
Alf tore his eyes from that face. But the features haunted him. Eagl&proud,
finely drawn beneath beard and bruises. The cast of them was uncanny:
eldritch.
Resolutely Alf focused upon the tormented body. He closed his eyes, seeking in
his mind for the stillness, the core of cool fire which made him what he was.
There was peace there, and healing.
Nothing. Only turmoil and a roiling mass of pain. His own turmoil, the other's
agony, together raised a barrier he could not cross. He tried. He beat upon
it. He strained until the sweat ran scalding down his sides.
Nothing.
He must have groaned aloud. Jehan was standing beside him, eyes dark with
anxiety. "Brother Alf? Are you alt right?"
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Judith Tarr
The novice's presence bolstered him. He nodded and breathed deep, shuddering.
Jehan was not convinced. "Brother Alf, you're sick. You ought to be in bed
yourself."
"It's not that kind of sickness." He reached for a splint, a roll of bandages.
His hands were almost steady. "You'll have to help me with this. Here; so."
There was peace of a sort in dial slow labor. Jehan had a feeling for it; his
hands were big but gentle, and they needed little direction.
After a long while, it was done. Alf knelt by the bed, staring at his
handiwork, calm at lastтАФa blank calm.
Jehan set something on the bed. Wet leather, redolent of horses: a set of
saddlebags. "These were on the mare's saddle," he said. "And the mare .. .
she's splendid! She's no vagabond's nag. Unless," he added with a doubtful
glance at the stranger, "he stole her."
"Does he look like a thief?"
"He looks as if he's been tortured."
"He has." Alf opened the saddlebags. They were full; one held a change of
clothing, plain yet rich. The other bore a flask, empty but holding still a
ghost of wine, and a crust of bread and an apple or two, and odds and ends of
metal and leather.
Amid this was a leather pouch, heavy for its size. Alf poured its contents
into his hand: a few coins and a ring, a signet of silver and sapphire. The
stone bore a proud device: a seabird in flight surmounted by a crown.
Jehan leaned close to see, and looked up startled. "Rhiyana!"
"Yes. The coins are Rhiyanan, too." Alf turned the ring to catch the light.
"See how the stone's carved. Guidion rex et imperator. It's the King's own
seal."
Jehan stared at the wounded man. "That's not Gwydion. Gwydion must be over
eighty. And what's his ring doing here? Rhiyana is across the Narrow Sea, and
we're the breadth of Anglia away from even that."
THE ISLE OF GLASS
13
"But we're only two days' ride from Gwynedd, whose King had his fostering at
Gwydion's hands. Look here: a penny from Gwynedd."
"Is he a spy?"
"With his King's own seal to betray him?"