"Kerr,.Katharine.-.Westlands.04.-.A.Time.Of.Justice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

'Oh splendid! Because I don't.'
The girls waited till late that night to make the charm. Wbridda brought one of the black feathers, Babryan, a candle-end, and Sevinna, a bone stylus. They crouched down close to the hearth, and Babryan laid the candle-end down a little distance from the flames.
'We'll let the wax soften.'
'All right,' Sevinna said. 'Now here, though, this won't make his lordship sick or anything, will it?'
'Oh, of course not,' Wbridda chimed in. 'It's awfully hard to make someone sick or have them die or suchlike. You've got to have bits of their fingernails or hair, and you've got to have special herb-oil, and you've got to work the charms nine times at midnight and do all sorts of stuff.'
'All right, then. He's only an awful bore. I don't want to cause him any harm. Do you know anyone who's ever worked this charm before?'
'Oh, lots of people,’ Babryan said. 'Lady Davylla's sisters, and then their friends. I don't know anyone who's ever worked the death curse, though. Oooh! That would be awful. You'd have to really hate someone.'
'I bet Lady Davylla's Wise Woman could do it, though,' Wbridda said. 'Or one of her friends.'
'There's some round Lughcarn, too,' Babryan added. 'We've got a little silver chain Lady Davylla's Wise Woman gave us, you see. If we show it to one of the Wise Woman here, they'll know that we're their friends.'
'Have you talked to any of them?' Sevinna said.
'Not yet, because it's so hard to get away from Mam. Now that you're here, we'll have to think of a way to do it. We can pretend to hunt with falcons or suchlike. It'll be ever so exciting.'
'Let's do it soon,' Sevinna said. 'Look, the wax is getting really soft.'
Babryan picked up the warm candle-end and kneaded it into the shape of a heart. When it was cool, Sevinna scratched Timryc's mark onto the surface, then handed it to Wbridda, who stuck the shaft of the feather into the wax. While Sevinna held the heart over the fire, the other two began to chant Aranrhodda's name. She threw the heart into the hottest part of the fire and watched as the feather singed and flared.
'Let his regard for her melt, melt, melt,' Babryan chanted.
For a moment the heart held steady, then began to twist and run. The wax flared with a plume of black smoke. Sevinna was suddenly frightened: it seemed that a face looked out of the flames, a pair of eyes, dark and grim, looking her straight in the face and marking her presence.
'Aranrhodda, Aranrhodda, Aranrhodda!' Babryan was whispering the chant over and over. 'Let his heart melt, melt, melt.'
The face disappeared; there was only the fire and the flaring wax along a log. Sevinna felt herself shuddering as if she knelt by a winter window instead of a roaring fire.
Black thatch covered the inn roof, the inn yard stank from a dirty stable, and the innkeep kept picking at a boil on his face, but the place was the only one in Lughcarn that would take in silver daggers. All the time they were sweeping out stalls and tending their horses, Rhodry grumbled, but Jill ignored him. He grumbled about the food, too, and she had to admit that fried turnips flecked with mutton weren't her favourite dinner, but when he insisted on wiping the rim of the tankard with the hem of his shirt before he drank from it, she'd had enough.
'Oh, stop it! I suppose you think we should be sleeping in the gwerbret's broch!'
'Don't pour vinegar in my wounds. I have stayed in the dun, and it's the memory that aches my heart now.'
'Huh. Do you think his grace would remember you?’
‘Most like. Ah by the black ass of the Lord of Hell, I hope our paths don't cross. The last thing I want is for his grace to see me now, a lousy silver dagger.'
'If you've really got lice, I'd better go through your hair tonight.’
‘Just a way of speaking! You don't need to make light of my shame.’
‘Oh now here, my love.' Jill laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. 'It's just hard for me to remember how shamed you feel, because to me you're the most wonderful man in all Deverry.'
Mollified, Rhodry returned the smile. Jill went back to thinking about plans in peace. Having the local gwerbret remember Rhodry would be useful if he'd only agree to face him. On the other hand, if Lady Mallona had found a refuge somewhere near Lughcarn, it might be better if they kept as quiet and anonymous as possible. If the priestesses of the Moon were right, some very high-born women, who doubtless had connections at the gwerbretal court, were amusing themselves by pretending to follow the Old Lore. The Holy Ladies considered such pastimes dangerous.
'Ye gods,’ Rhodry groaned. 'Mallona could be anywhere.’
'Just that, but maybe we can find some kind of a trail. I've got an idea, you see.’
Since it was market day, Jill and Rhodry walked round the town to look the place over. Lughcarn was a big city for that time, close to twelve thousand people, cobbled street after street lined with round houses, always topped with dirty-grey thatch. They passed the foundries, long half-open sheds and fenced yards where deep pits gaped to smelt the ore, and sticks and chunks of black charcoal lay piled in covered sheds. At the centre of town Rhodry pointed out the gwerbret's dun. Behind the smooth stone walls rose the tops of the broch and the half-brochs like a thick cluster of spears. Jill counted seven towers in all, each with slate roofs. Here and there in a favoured window a piece of glass caught the light and gleamed.
As they lingered, admiring, the iron-bound gates swung open, and a riding party came out on matched bay palfreys, three young lasses in linen riding dresses, draped gracefully over their side-saddles. Behind them came a falconer and an escort of five riders from the gwerbret's warband. Rhodry grabbed Jill's arm and pulled her into a deep doorway behind them.
'Those are the gwerbret's daughters. Doubtless Babryan would remember me, and I don't want her to see me.’
'Why? Did you break her heart or suchlike?'
'Naught of the sort! The last time I saw her she was a child with her hair back in a braid. I just don't want to have to face her.’
As the lasses rode slowly by, the people on the street hurried to get out of their way, the men bowing, the women dropping curtsies. The lasses hardly seemed to notice; they were talking among themselves and letting their gentle horses pick their own way through the streets.
In the middle of town Jill and Rhodry found the market square, cluttered with booths, built all anyhow, and farmers with produce spread out on the ground wherever they could find a bare spot. Through it all wandered shabby women with baskets on their arms, elegant women with a servant trailing behind to carry their purchases, young men hanging round and merely watching the passing show, servants hurrying on errands. Jill and Rhodry picked their way through heaps of cabbages and baskets of eggs, walked past a man with a stack of round yellow cheeses, and generally looked over the various rural people come to town to sell.
Eventually they saw an old woman kneeling on the ground behind a blanket, spread with bunches of tied kitchen herbs, basil, chervil, and rosemary, both fresh and dried. Her grey hair was neatly caught back with the black headscarf of a widow, and her faded brown dress was scrupulously clean. When Jill knelt down in front of her, the old woman raised a quizzical eyebrow.
'You don't look like you do much cooking, lass.'
'Well, actually, I'm looking for a different kind of herb, but I was wondering if you knew a woman who deals in physic.'
'Here, there's a fine apothecary in town. Duryn's his name, and he has a shop over by the west gate.’
'Well, er ah, you see, I was hoping to find a woman with herb lore, not a man.'
The old woman sighed in faint disgust, looked at Rhodry who was hovering nearby, sighed again, then crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Jill.
'Now you should have thought of such things before you ran off with a handsome silver dagger,' the old woman snapped. 'Oh, your poor family! Is it too late for you to ride home?'
'Far too late,' Jill said, thankful that she was lying about this supposed pregnancy. 'They'll never take me back now.'
'Well, my heart aches for you, lass, but you waded into this mucky river, and now you'll just have to dry your own clothes. You lasses! Ye gods! Thinking you can roll around with any man who takes your fancy and not have to give the Goddess the tribute she demands. Lasses weren't like this in my day, they weren't. We knew the right side of the blanket from the wrong one. Now it's a nasty impious thing you're thinking of, and even if I could do a thing about it, I wouldn't, and neither would any honest woman, neither. You'd best get yourself to the temple and beg the priestesses to do something about that man of yours. No doubt he'll try to run out on you, but our gwerbret will put a stop to that if the Holy Ladies ask him. Lasses! Ye gods, didn't you think?'
Jill hastily rose and began babbling something about having to leave. The old woman followed and caught a startled Rhodry by the arm.
'You'd best do the right thing by this lass and marry her, silver dagger,' she announced. 'Maybe she was stupid, but you lads are the scum of the earth, getting lasses with child and then riding on again. You had the fun of getting the baby, and now you'd best turn your hand to supporting it.'
This tirade was attracting quite a crowd. The cheese seller strolled over, the egg woman hurried up - everywhere folk stopped and turned to listen. When a scarlet-faced Rhodry tried to stammer out some excuse, the crowd snickered and grinned. A couple of stout older men, one of them quite well-dressed in the checked brigga of a merchant, trotted over and made the old woman bows.
'Now what's this, Gwedda?' the merchant said. 'Has this lad dishonoured this poor lass?'
'He has, and now she's with child. You men! A rotten pack, all of you.'
'I'm going to marry her!' Rhodry squealed. 'I swear it! Come on, Jill!'