"Kerr, Katharine - Deverry 02 - Darkspell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

‘Have you seen Calonderiel yet?’ Manaverr said.
‘The warleader? No. Why?’
‘He’s been asking every bard here about some obscure point of somebody’s genealogy. He’ll probably work his way around to you sooner or later.’
The sprite suddenly pulled his hair, then vanished before he could swat her. The alardan was filled with Wildfolk, rushing around as excitedly as the children. Sprite, gnome, sylph, and salamander, they were the spirits of the elements, who at times took on a solid appearance, even though their home lay elsewhere in the many-layered universe. Devaberiel was not quite sure where; only dweomerfolk knew such things.
With one last heave, the men got up the lamb, wrapped in charred coarse cloth, and flopped it onto the leaves. The smell of the roast meat, heavily spiced and baked with fruit, was so inviting that Devaberiel moved closer without even being aware that he was doing so, but he had to wait for his portion. Calonderiel the warleader strode over and hailed him. He looked much like Man-averr, his cousin.
‘What’s this mysterious question?’ the bard asked him.
‘Just a point of curiosity,’ Calonderiel said. ‘You know that I rode with Aderyn when he was off chasing Loddlaen, don’t you?’
‘I heard something of the story.’
‘All right, then. I met a human warleader called Rhodry Maelwaedd, a lad of twenty. Strangely enough, he’s got a good bit of our blood in his veins. I was wondering if you knew how it had gotten into his clan.’
‘A woman of the People married Pertyc Maelwaedd in ... oh, when was that . . . well, say two hundred years ago.’
‘That long? But I saw Rhodry handle a piece of dwarven silver, and it blazed in his hands.’
‘Really? Then it can’t just be that distant relationship. What was his father’s name?’
‘Tingyr Maelwaedd, and his mother is Lovyan of the Clw Coc.’
Devaberiel went very still. When had that been? He could still see her face in his mind, a beautiful lass for all her blunt ears and round eyes, and she’d been so melancholy about something. But when? that unusually dry summer, wasn’t it? Yes, and it was twenty-one years ago, all right.
‘Oh by the Dark Sun herself!’ Devaberiel burst out. ‘Here I never even knew I’d gotten Lovva with child!’
‘And isn’t that a fine jest?’ Calonderiel said with a crow of laughter. ‘I certainly picked the perfect bard to answer my question. You have a peculiar fondness for round-ear women, my friend.’
‘There haven’t been that many.’
When Calonderiel started to laugh, Devaberiel threw a punch his way.
‘Stop howling like a goblin! I want to know about this son of mine. Every detail you can remember.’
Not many days later, Rhodry was the subject of another discussion, this one in Bardek, far across the Southern Sea. In an upstairs room of an isolated villa, deep in the hill country of the main island, two men lounged on a purple divan and watched a third, sitting at a table littered with parchment scrolls and books. He was grossly fat, as saggy and wrinkled as a torn leather ball, and only a few wisps of white hair clung to his dark-skinned skull. Whenever he glanced up, his eyelids drooped uncontrollably, half-covering his brown eyes. He had immersed himself so thoroughly and so long in the craft of the dark dweomer that he no longer had a name. He was simply the Old One.
The other two men were both from Deverry. Alastyr, who looked fifty but was actually closer to seventy, was a solid sort with a squarish face and gray hair. At first sight he looked like a typical Cerrmor merchant, with his checked brigga and nicely embroidered shirt, and indeed, he took great pains to act the part. The other, Sarcyn, had just turned thirty. His thick blond hair, dark blue eyes, and regular features should have made him handsome, but there was something about the way he smiled, something about the burning expression in his eyes, that made most people find him repellent. They both spoke not a word until the Old One looked up, tipping his head back so that he could see them.
‘I have gone over all the major calculations.’ His voice was like the rasp of two dead twigs rubbed together. There’s some hidden thing at work here that I don’t understand, some secret, some force of Destiny, perhaps, that has interfered with our plans.’
‘Could it simply be the Master of the Aethyr?’ Alastyr said. ‘Loddlaen’s war was going splendidly until he intervened.’
The Old One shook his head no and picked up a parchment sheet.
‘This is the horoscope of Tingyr, Rhodry’s father. My art is very complex, little Alastyr. A single horoscope reveals few secrets.’
‘I see. I didn’t realize that.’
‘No doubt, because few know the stars as I do. Now, most fools think that when a man dies, his horoscope is of no more use, but astrology is the art of studying beginnings. Whatever a man begins in his life - like a son, for instance - is influenced by his stars, even after his death. Now, when I correlated this horoscope with certain transits, it seemed clear that this summer Tingyr would lose a son through deceit on someone’s part. The other brother’s chart showed that he was in no danger, so obviously Rhodry had to be the son lost.’
‘Well, the year’s not over yet. It would be easy to send assassins after him.’
‘Easy and quite useless. The omens clearly show that he will die in battle. Have you forgotten everything I ever told you?’
‘My humble apologies.’
‘Besides, the Deverry year ends on Samaen. We have less than a month now. No, it’s as I say. Some hidden thing is at work here.’ He let his glance linger on the heaped table. ‘And yet, it seems that I had all the information I could possibly need. This may bode ill – for all of us. No, Alastyr, we’ll send no assassins, nothing so hasty until I unravel this puzzle.’
‘As you wish, of course.’
‘Of course.’ The Old One picked up a bone stylus and idly tapped another parchment. ‘This woman puzzles me, too. Very greatly does Jill puzzle me. There was nothing in the omens about a woman who could fight Hke a man. I wish more information about her, her birthdate if possible, so that I can scribe out her stars.’
‘I’ll make every effort to find it for you when I return.’
With a nod of approval that set his chins trembling, the Old One shifted his bulk in his chair.
‘Send your apprentice to fetch me my meal.’
Alastyr gestured at Sarcyn, who rose and obediently left the room. The Old One contemplated the closed door for a moment.
‘That one hates you,’ he said at last.
‘He does? I wasn’t aware of it.’
‘No doubt he’s taken great pains to hide it. Now, it’s fit and right that an apprentice struggle with his master. How best does a true man learn but by fighting for knowledge? But hatred? It’s very dangerous.’
Alastyr wondered if the Old One had seen an omen that indicated Sarcyn was a real threat. The master would never tell except for a stiff price. The Old One was the greatest expert alive in one particular part of the dark dweomer, that of wresting hints of future events from a universe unwilling to reveal them. His personal perversion of astrology was only part of the art, which involved meditation and a dangerous kind of astral scrying as well. Since he was scrupulously honest in his own way as well as valuable, he commanded a respect and loyalty rare among dark dweomermen and was, in a limited sense, as much of a leader as their ‘brotherhood’ could ever have. Since his age and bulk confined him to this villa, Alastyr had struck a bargain with him. In return for the master’s aid with his own plans, he was doing such portions of the Old One’s work that required traveling.
In a few minutes Sarcyn returned with a bowl on a tray, set it down in front of the Old One, then took his place at Alastyr’s side. The bowl held raw meat, freshly killed and mixed with the still warm blood, a necessary food for aged masters of the dark arts. The Old One scooped up a delicate fingerful and licked it off.
‘Now, as for your own work,’ he said. ‘The time is growing ripe to obtain what you seek, but you must be very careful. I know you’ve taken many precautions, but consider how carefully we worked to eliminate Rhodry. You know full well how that ended.’
‘I assure you that I’ll be constantly on guard.’
‘Good. Next summer, a certain configuration of planets will lie adversely in the horoscope of the High King of Deverry. This grouping in turn is influenced by subtle factors beyond your understanding. All these omens taken together indicate that the King might lose a powerful guardian if someone worked to that end.’
‘Splendid! The jewel I seek is just such a guardian.’
The Old One paused for another scoop and lick.
‘This is all very interesting, little Alastyr. So far, you’ve kept your side of our bargain, perhaps even better than you can know. So many strange things.’ He sounded almost dreamy. ‘Very, very interesting. We’ll see, when you return to Deverry, if more strange things come your way. Do you see what I mean? You must be on guard every single moment.’
Alastyr felt an icy cold clench his stomach. He was being warned, no matter how circumspectly, that the Old One could no longer trust his own predictions.
Devaberiel Silverhand knelt in his red leather tent and methodically rummaged through a wall bag embroidered with vines and roses. Since it was quite large, it took him a while to find what he was looking for. Irritably he scrabbled through old trophies from singing contests, the clumsy first piece of embroidery his daughter had ever done, two mismatched silver buckles, a bottle of Bardek scent, and a wooden horse given to him by a lover whose name he’d forgotten. At the very bottom he found the small leather pouch, so old that it was cracking.