"Karl Edward Wagner - Sing a Last Song of Valdese" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

His ankle stabbed with pain, but at least it bore his weight. His boots had
probably prevented worse injury. He damned the voluminous grey cassock as it
flapped about his trousered legs. It was slitted front and back from ankle to
midthigh, and while that enabled him to straddle a horse, he blamed the clumsy
garment for his fall.
The two-storey square log structure was a welcome sight. The autumn night grew
chill; mist flowed like waves across the ridges. A night spent in the open
would be uncomfortable at best. Worse, he bad been warned of danger, and his
sword was strapped to his saddle somewhere in the darkened hills.
A sign hung over the door: Vald's Cove Inn. The carving seemed of recent work,
the priest noted as he climbed up to the door. The latch was not out, though
the hour was not late, Hearing voices within, he knocked loudly.
He was about to knock a third time, when the door was opened. Light and voices
and the smell of warmth spilled out into the night.
A narrow, beardless face frowned out at him from the half-open doorway.
"Who... what do you want... reverence?" His voice was thin and nervous, and he
spoke in half-whisper.
"Food and lodging," the priest tumbled impatiently. "This is an inn, I
believe."
"I'm sorry. There's no more room. You'll have to go elsewhere." He made to
close the door.
The priest's huge fist checked him. "Are you a fool? Where is the innkeeper?"
he demanded, suspicious at the man's show of anxious confusion.
"I'm master here," the other snapped in annoyance. "I'm sorry, reverence. I've
no more room, and you'll have to--"
"Look, damn you!" The priest's bulk shouldered onto the threshold. "My horse
threw me, and I've hobbled for miles already to get here. Now I'll have food
and lodging if it's no more than floor space near the fire!"
The skeletal innkeeper did not quail before the bigger man. His narrow jaw
clamped in anger; he clenched his black-gloved hands.
"What is this, man?" demanded a voice from within. "Do I hear you denying
lodging to a brother servant of Thoem! What manner of innkeeper are you?"
The innkeeper started, then cringed effusively. "Forgive me, eminence. I only
meant that my accommodations were not sufficient for one of his reverence's--"
"Let him in, you idiot! Turn away a priest of Thoem, would you! I see it's
true how sadly you mountain folk have fallen in your respect for the true god!
Let him in, do you hear?"
The priest pushed past the suddenly solicitous innkeeper. "Thank you,
eminence. The manners of these folk are pitiable."
There were several people in the common room of the inn. Seated alone at one
of several small tables was a tall, thin man whose scarlet cassock identified
him as an abbot in the priesthood of Thoem. Like the priest, his face was
hidden by the cowled garment. He waved to the other man with a finely groomed,
blue-veined hand.
"Come join me by the fire and have some wine," he invited. "I see you're
limping somewhat. Did I hear you say your horse threw you? That's bad luck.
Our host must send his servants out to find it. Are you badly hurt?"
"Thoem saved me from serious harm, eminence, though I'd rather not walk
another mile on it tonight."
"I'm certain. More wine, innkeeper! And hurry with that roast! Would you