"Sorcerer's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Phyllis Eisenstein)

“Yes. Though there is one of them that keeps finding the creatures, and they don’t all escape his foot.”

“How did you find them all?”

“With difficulty. The first was an accident: I was watching court politics in the bedchamber of a certain king, and he summoned a troubadour for diversion. I, too, was diverted, and I gave the singer a tiny companion for his travels. After that, I began to look for them. Now, through them, I see more of the world than ever before.

Troubadours know no boundaries, after all, no politics, no loyalties, not if they wish to continue their travels. And none of them ever know that I am riding with them.”

He gazed up at her face, so near his own, leaning upon the open palm of her hand. Her hair almost brushed his shoulder. “You cannot touch them, my lady Delivev. They are like images in a mirror; you reach out, but the surface is flat and it gives back no warmth. Nor will they speak to you, for you are like a ghost among them—less than a ghost if they never sense you at all, not even by some inexplicable shiver running down their spines.”

“So much the better,” she replied. “I see and hear them, yet I need not tolerate their presence.”

“I cannot believe that you so despise all other people.”

“I despise no one. But I do not care to share my life with anyone I have ever seen in the web.”

“Hosting a troubadour would hardly be sharing your life.”

“A small part of my life.”

“And yet, you took me in, a stranger, knowing that you would be sharing your life with me until I healed.”

“I would have done the same for a wounded dog.”

Lightly, he laid one hand upon her shoulder. “You are not as chill as you wish to seem.

Your parents gave you an ugly view of life, but you know that what they had was not what might have been. Two people mismatched, nothing more. How can you judge all the world by them?”

“I have seen more than you suppose in my webs. I have seen great lords and their ladies, and they were different from my parents only in the limits of their powers—dishes thrown instead of lightning.”

“And you must also have heard songs of great love from troubadours.”

“Great loves that ended tragically, yes. Great lovers that died before they could drive each other mad.”

He shook his head. “If your view of life were true, then no one would ever marry.”

“I am not responsible for the mistakes of others. Only for my own. You are very young, Mellor. I would expect you to believe in many things that I have outgrown.”

“I believe that individuals may love each other.” He turned on his side to face her, very close, and she did not draw away. “I believe that I could love the kindest and most beautiful lady I have ever met.”

“Mellor, what a foolish thing to say.”

“And I believe that she could love me in return.” His arms slid around her, and he pulled her to him. Her mouth was warm and yielding, and the cushions were soft beneath their bodies, the velvet coverlet voluptuous against their flesh. She whispered concern for his wound, that it might open from such exertion, but he sealed her mouth with his own and nothing more was said. Afterward, they slept in each other’s arms on the bed surrounded by spiderweb draperies, and above them a troubadour in a distant castle sang of love.



From the balcony of the highest spire of Castle Spinweb, the stars seemed bright and hard and close enough to touch. Gildrum watched for hours as they wheeled about the Northern Star, as Delivev lay sleeping so far below in the bed they had shared this score of nights. Gildrum needed no sleep, of course, but he could feign well enough, and he had found great pleasure in holding her in his arms each night. Now he denied himself that pleasure. Now he found something inside himself griping like acid, like a small animal with sharp claws. His task was completed, and the will of his lord demanded his return to Ringforge. Not that Rezhyk knew what his servant had done—there was no communication between them while Gildrum was inside the walls of Spinweb—but that did not matter. The imperative was within Gildrum himself, the imperative of the ring, and he had no choice but to obey.

He did not wish to leave. In all the years he had been slave to a sorcerer, he had seen the human world, he had dealt with men and women in human guise; he thought he