"Kerr, Katharine - Deverry 01 - Daggerspell v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

“I will, Da. Promise.”
Cullyn set his hands on his hips and looked her over.
“And just what were you pretending?” he said. “More of that nonsense about the Wildfolk?”
Jill hung her head and began scrubbing at the grass with the toe of her boot. Cullyn slapped her across the face.
“I don’t want to hear a word of it,” he said. “No more of this babbling to yourself.”
“I won’t, Da. Promise.” Jill bit her lip hard to keep back the tears.
“Oh here.” Suddenly Cullyn knelt down in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Forgive me the slap, my sweet. Your poor old father’s all to pieces these days.” He hesitated for a moment, looking honestly troubled. “Jill, listen to me. There’s plenty of people in the kingdom who believe the Wildfolk are real enough. Do you know what else they believe? That anyone who can see them is a witch. Do you know what could happen to you if someone heard you talking to the Wildfolk? For all that you’re but a little lass, there could be trouble over it. I don’t want to have to cut my way through a crowd of peasants to keep you from being beaten to death.”
Jill went cold all over and started shaking. Cullyn drew her into his arms and hugged her, but she felt like shoving him away and running wildly into the forest. But I do see them, she thought, does that make me a witch? She felt sick at the thought —was she going to turn into an old hag who had the evil eye and poisoned people with herbs? When she realized that she couldn’t even share these fears with her father, she began to cry.
“Oh here, here,” Cullyn said. “My apologies. Now don’t think of it anymore, and we’ll have a bit to eat. But now you know why you can’t go babbling about Wildfolk where other people can hear you.”
“I won’t, Da. I truly truly promise.”
In the middle of the night, Jill woke up to find the world turned to silver by moonlight. The gray gnome was hunkered down near her head as if he was keeping guard over her. Since Cullyn was snoring loudly, Jill risked whispering to him.
“You’re my best and truest friend,” she said. “But I don’t want to be a witch.”
The gnome shook his head in a vigorous no.
“Isn’t it true? Do only witches see you?”
Again came the reassuring no. He patted her face gently, then disappeared with a gust of wind that seemed to send the moonlight dancing. For a long time Jill lay awake, smiling to herself in profound relief. Yet she knew that her Da was right; from now on, she would have to be very careful.
The folk of Deverry have always been the restless sort. In the old days of the Dawntime they wandered thousands of miles before they settled the old kingdom, Devetia Riga, in the Homeland. The bards still tell many a tale of how they fled the encroaching Rhwmanes and sailed across a vast ocean under the leadership of King Bran to find the Western Isles. Then they rode all over the Isles, too, before King Bran saw the omen of the white sow that told him where to found the holy city of Dun Deverry. Even during Jill’s time, there were still people who lived more on the roads than at home—merchants with caravans, peddlers with packs, tinkers, priests on pilgrimages, young men riding from one lord to another in the hopes of finding a place in a warband, and of course, silver daggers. After a few weeks of riding with her father, Jill realized that the lure of the road had caught her, too. There was always something new to see, someone new to meet; she wondered how she’d ever endured being confined to one small village.
Since Cullyn had plenty of coin, Jill was surprised when he began to look for another hire. As they rode aimlessly east through Cerrgonney, he was always asking for news of feuds and border wars.
“The summer’s half gone,” he told Jill one night at their campfire. “A silver dagger has to think about coin for the winter. Well, not that many of my cursed band do think, mind, but they don’t have a daughter to worry about.”
“True spoken, Da. Did you ever have to sleep out in the snow?”
“I didn’t, because I could always ride back and winter with your mother.” All at once, Cullyn turned melancholy, his face slack as if he were suddenly exhausted. “Ah ye gods, I only hope no word of this comes to her in the Otherlands. Her only child, riding the roads with a man like me!”
“Da, you’re splendid, and this is splendid, too. When I grow up, I’ll be a silver dagger like you.”
“Listen to you. Lasses can’t be warriors.”
“Why not? They were, back in the Dawntime. Like Aiva. Have you heard those songs, Da? Lord Melyn’s bard used to come to the tavern, and he’d sing for me sometimes. I always asked for the ones about Aiva. She was splendid. She was a Hawk woman, you see.”
“Oh, I’ve heard the tales, but that was long ago. Things are different now.”
“Why? That’s not fair. Besides, there was Lady Gweniver, too, and she was only back in the Time of Troubles, not the Dawntime. These men insulted her honor, and she gets them for it.” Jill laid her hand on her heart, just as the bard did. “ ‘Back they fall, and bright blood blooms, on helm and heart as the hells claim them.’ I learned that bit by heart.”
“If ever we ride back to Bobyr, I’m going to have a thing or two to say to Lord Melyn’s bard. Ye gods, what have I sired?”
“Someone just like you. That’s what Mama always said. She said I was stubborn just like you and every bit as nasty when I wanted to be.”
Cullyn laughed, a muttered chuckle under his breath. It was the first time Jill had ever heard him laugh aloud in her life.
It was two days later that Cullyn got the news he wanted about a hire. They had stopped in the midst of a grove of oak trees for their noon meal, and they were eating bread and cheese when Jill heard the sound of two horses, trotting straight for them. Cullyn was up and standing with his sword drawn before the sound truly made sense to her. Jill scrambled up just as the horsemen came in sight, ducking and dodging under the branches. They were armed, wearing chainmail, and their swords were drawn.
“Hold and stand!” the leader called out.
As they rode into the clearing, Cullyn stepped smoothly between them and Jill. The men pulled up their horses, then suddenly smiled. The leader leaned over in his saddle.
“My apologies,” he said. “I thought you were some of Lord Ynydd’s men.”
“Never even heard of him,” Cullyn said. “What have we done, wandered into a feud?”
“Just that. We serve Tieryn Braedd, and these woods are his, by every god!”
“I’d never deny it. Does Lord Ynydd?”
“He does. Here, you’re a silver dagger! Looking for a hire? There’s only four of us against Ynydd’s seven, you see.”
“By the hells!” Cullyn tossed his head. “This must have been a bloody little affair.”
“Well, not truly,” the rider said regretfully. “You see, there was only five against seven to begin with. But truly, go speak with our lord. The dun’s just two miles down this road. You can’t miss it.”
The rider spoke the truth about that, certainly. Out in the middle of cleared farmland was a low hill, ringed with the massive stone walls of the Tieryn’s dun. Behind them stood a broch that was at least four stories high, with a red and gray pennant flying proudly at the top. Yet as they rode up to it, Jill saw that the great iron-bound gates in the walls were only for show. A long time ago the walls had been slighted and breached, three gaps wide enough to drive a wagon through. Ivy grew over the rubble left lying around. Inside the walls, they found a muddy ward that had once sheltered many buildings, to judge from the circular foundations and the occasional piece of standing wall left amid the tall grass. Around to one side of the broch, the wall of the top story had been knocked away. Jill could see into little empty chambers.
“What did that, Da?”
“A catapult, no doubt.”
The ward was silent and empty except for a flock of big white geese, poking for snails in the ivy-covered rubble. When Cullyn called out a halloo, a young boy with a dirty red and gray tabard| over his shirt and brigga ran out of the broch.
“Who are you?” he said.
“Cullyn of Cerrmor. I want to speak with your lord.”
“Well, Da’s talking to him right now, but they won’t mind if you just come in.”
“Now here!” Cullyn said sternly. “You’re supposed to bow to. me and say: I’ll see, good sir, but the great Tieryn Braedd may have important business afoot.”
“But he doesn’t. He never does anything unless he’s fighting with Lord Ynydd, and he isn’t today.”
“Oh very well then. Lead on.”
Tieryn Braedd’s great hall had once been great indeed, a vast circular room encompassing the entire ground floor of the broch. At either side were two massive stone hearths, carved with bands of interlacement and lions. In between was easily enough room for two hundred men to have feasted there. Now, however, the far hearth was a kitchen, where a slatternly lass was standing at a battered table and chopping carrots and turnips while a joint of mutton roasted on a spit. By the nearer hearth were three tables and unsteady-looking benches. Two men were sitting and drinking at one of them: a man of solid years, with a soft black beard, and a tall pale lad of about seventeen with a long nose that reminded Jill of a rabbit. Since he was wearing plaid brigga and a shirt embroidered with lions, the lad had to be the Tieryn. The young page skipped up to the table and tugged on the Tieryn’s sleeve.
“Your Grace? There’s a silver dagger here named Cullyn of Cerrmor.”