"Kerr,.Katharine.-.Westlands.01.-.A.Time.Of.Exile" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

"A dweomer warning?"
"I don't know if I'd call it that. Just a bad feeling. I'm sorry, but I just don't trust your people."
"I can't say I blame you. Ye gods, it makes me sick, thinking about how much you've all lost already, and now my folk come riding in trying to take away what little you've got left."
"There's plenty of land for all of us, though. That's the sad thing. There truly is plenty for all, if the Round-ears would only see that. The grasslands stretch way far away to the west, and way up north, too, before you come to the mountains."
"How far away were the seven cities?"
She shrugged, thinking hard.
"I have no idea. Months' worth of riding, I guess. We never go there anymore."
"Why not? Are the ruins haunted or suchlike?"
"Most like, but that's not why. Wait-I heard some old tale about a plague-that's right! At the end, it was plague that destroyed the Hordes, and the bards say that their corpses choked the gutters and paved the streets. If you want to know about all that old stuff, you should ask a bard at the winter meetings. They keep the lore alive."
"You don't seem to care much about it, do you?"
"Ye gods, I grew up hearing about the Burning till I was sick of it. So we lived in splendor once! Who cares? The past is dead, say I, and we've got to make the best of what we've got now."
Yet her voice cracked with bitterness and regret.

Since Lord Dovyn and his escort left Aberwyn before the merchant guild sent its representatives to the prince, they rode back home thinking that the matter of Dovyn's new lands was settled. Life for Cinvan and the warband settled into a drowsy autumn routine: exercising their horses in good weather, and in bad, gathering in the great hall to drink ale and keep the Carnoic tournament going, which by then was a close and heated affair. Garedd marked one of his silver pieces and kept a record of its progress through the wagers-sure enough, every time he lost it, it eventually came back to him. Cinvan took up the battle in earnest and fought his way to the front rank of contenders. He liked the cold pure strategy of the game, where a single mistake was fatal, and had put in long hours studying the various moves and tactics. Often on the long afternoons, while the wives were up doing whatever it was that women did in the women's hall, Melaudd, Waldyn, and Dovyn would stroll over, tankards in hand, to watch the games and lay an occasional wager themselves.
When the message arrived, they were all gathered at the riders' side of the hall. Cinvan was playing a particularly difficult game with Peddyc, who was almost his equal. He was debating whether to sacrifice one of his stones in order to jump and capture two of Peddyc's when there was a bustle at the door. The gatekeeper came running in with an exhausted rider, his cloak pinned with the dragon brooch of Aberwyn.
"My lord Dovyn, an urgent message for you."
Swearing under their breath, Peddyc and Cinvan stopped their game. A servant hurried off to find the scribe, who duly appeared to take the piece of parchment and read it aloud. The warband clustered round to hear.
"To Dovyn, lesser lord of the Bears, newly designated lord of Loc Cyrtaer, I, Addryc, prince of Aberwyn by the grace of his highness, Waryn, king of Eldidd, send greetings," the scribe began. "My lord, a matter of great difficulty has been set before me by Prince Halaberiel, son of Berenaladar, son of Ranadar, a king of the Westfolk. The land on which you laid recent claim in my court is under prior claim to said Halaberiel as part of his royal hunting preserve. Certain sections of said land have also served as tribal burial ground for the ancestors of the Westfolk since time immemorial. I most urgently summon and request you to appear in my palace so that this matter may be discussed and settled in my court of law under my personal arbitration. Under my seal and mark, Addryc, prince of Aberwyn."
"Oh, by the asses of the gods!" Dovyn burst out. "Those cursed Westfolk! The gall! Prince, is he? I'll just wager!" He turned to his father in mute appeal.
"Whether he's a prince or not, Addryc's a prince for sure," Melaudd said. "We'd best ride south and take a look at this."
Dovyn began pacing restlessly back and forth.
"Why didn't this cursed horse herder come forward before? The rotten gall! This is going to delay everything."
"Maybe it will, maybe it won't," Waldyn put in. "Now calm yourself, brother. No need to draw steel and strike sparks until you see how the prince's judgment goes."
"Just so." Melaudd turned to the messenger. "Did this Halaberiel ride in with an armed escort?"
"He did, my lord. Twenty men."
"Well and good. Then we'll take twenty of mine and leave the rest with Waldyn."
Much to their delight, Cinvan and Garedd were chosen to be part of the escort and have another chance at the marvels of life in Aberwyn. At the meal that night, while the men who were going to be left behind grumbled, swore, and generally cursed the others for their good fortune, Cinvan and Garedd pumped the messenger for every scrap of news he had, which, as a common rider like themselves, was little enough.
"Well, here," Garedd said at last. "Do you think this Hala what's-it is truly a prince?"
"Well, now, I know this isn't a friendly sort of thing to say, but I wouldn't doubt it. I've never seen so many jewels on a lord! And this escort of his is always bowing and scraping around him, saying 'my prince this' and 'my prince that,' fetching him mead and bringing him cushions. You know, there's one good thing you've got to say about the Westfolk-they blasted well can hold their mead. I've never seen a man drink the way this prince can."
"I'm more interested in how they hold their swords," Cinvan said.
"Now listen, lad." The messenger shot him a sharp glance. "Naught's going to come to bloodshed in Aberwyn's court. A man who draws steel there gets twenty-five lashes, and if he's still alive when they're done with him, they throw him out of the warband onto the roads to starve."
"I know that as well as you do," Cinvan snapped. "I was just wondering if things would come to a war."
"Now here," Garedd broke in. "That's for the lords to decide. If Dovyn takes the judgment, then he'll be looking for land elsewhere, that's all. God knows, there's enough of it, out to the west."
Cinvan turned to look across the hall to the table of honor, where Melaudd and Dovyn were talking urgently, heads together, and Melaudd's lady watched, shredding a piece of bread with frightened fingers.

Halaberiel and his retinue had been gone three days before Nananna heard from Aderyn. Impressively enough, he could reach her mind directly, rather than wait for a dream. One evening Dallandra was adding a few twigs and chips of wood to their tiny fire when the old woman suddenly went still and stared off into midair.
"Everything's going smoothly so far," Nananna said at last. "They crossed into Round-ear territory with no trouble, and now they're about a day and half's ride from the city itself."
"Is Aderyn all right?"
"Of course, or he could hardly contact me, could he?"
"I'm sorry. I'm just so worried, thinking they'll be poisoned or ambushed or murdered by the Round-ears one way or another."
"Have you had a true dream or a vision?"
"No, it's just my fears talking to me. I even know it, but I can't seem to stop."
"Don't try to stop. Let the voices talk, but ignore them."
Nananna tilted her head to one side to study her apprentice. "You're coming to like Aderyn, aren't you?"
"Oh, he's nice enough." She kept her voice casual. "For a Round-ear. No, that's mean of me. He's been a good friend so far, and whether or not he's a Round-ear has nothing to do with it."
"That's better, yes. I like him myself, but even more to the point, he's willing to help us beyond measure. He has knowledge that's been lost to the People for eight hundred years, and he's willing to share it for the asking. I call that admirable myself."
"So do I, Wise One. Maybe I've misjudged the Round-ears. Let's just hope that there's more men like Aderyn in Eldidd."

"On the trip south, Melandd kept the warband riding fast from dun to dun of his allies and vassals. Everywhere they stopped, the lords offered encouragement and support. The consensus seemed to be that these blasted Westfolk had caused enough trouble, and the sooner they were shoved back to open land, the better. But when they reached Aberwyn, they had a nasty surprise waiting for them. They would, of course, be staying in the dun of the Dragon Prince, but so, it turned out, was this prince of the Westfolk and his escort. Out of simple fairness, Addryc had offered Halaberiel his shelter and protection. Every man in the warband saw this courtesy as a betrayal. Dovyn was furious enough to talk openly in front of the men.
"What do you wager those cursed merchants are behind this? Piss-poor coin, polishers!"