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

for their own."
"Then they steal his physical appearance, as well," Claesna countered. "Legend
describes him as a man of powerful build, seemingly a warrior in his prime
years. His hair is red and he is left-handed."
"So are many others."
"But his eyes are his mark. The eyes of Kane are blue, and in them glows the
mad gaze of a ruthless killer. No man may look into Kane's eyes and not know
him."
Ranvyas started. "There's talk of an assassin who's behind these murders that
are pushing the empire into civil war. Said to be an outlander brought in by
Eypurin to remove those who oppose his false claim to the throne. His name is
reportedly Kane, and what little is known of him answers to your description.
Did this Kane die in the fall of his citadel?"
Passlo looked startled. "Why, of course... I suppose. Yes, he must have. That
was centuries ago, man!"
"I had been warned against staying the night in the open," suggested the
priest. "While nothing definite was said, I can see that these mountains have
more sinister legends than the road has turns."
"That's so, Revered Callistratis," affirmed the ranger, running a hand over
his short-cropped hair. "You say you lost your horse on the trail? Lucky for
you you didn't meet Valdese while you was limping along in the dark."
"Valdese?"
"A lamia, reverence," explained the innkeeper. "A most beautiful spectre,
Valdese is--and most malevolent. Legend says she haunts the mountain trails at
night. Entices travellers into her arms and leaves them bloodless beneath the
moon."
Suddenly it had grown very quiet. Leaves rustled against the frosted
windowpanes.
The innkeeper sensed the unease of his guests. "Had you not heard that legend,
gentlemen? But I forget--you're strangers here, all of you. Still I thought
you must have heard her song. Do you know the Song of Valdese?" He raised a
black-gloved hand. "Come out, Bodger. Sing Valdese's song for our guests."
The dwarf scuttled out of the shadow with his mandolin. Bowing to his
audience, he began to sing, his voice comic no longer.

In the dark hills of Halbros' land,
There dwelled a lovely maid--
The brightest flower, the rarest jewel,
Shone dull in Valdese's hand.

Her father's inn stood beside the road,
Great was his wealth of gold--
But the choicest treasure of the land,
Was the heart of fair Valdese.

Then came brash suitors to her door,
Six bright and bold young men--
Said they bad come to win the hand,
Of the maiden called Valdese.