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

“Will you direct me to the captain, then?” asked Cray.

“I’ll call him,” said the first guard, and he stepped back through the gate and beckoned to someone inside the courtyard. In a few moments a very stocky man joined the guards; he wore a green leather badge on one shoulder to denote his rank.

“For whom do you wish to buy this sword and armor?” he asked.

“For myself,” said Cray.

“Are you a knight, that you need such things?”

“I will be a knight, sir, like my father.”

“Why does your father not supply you with a sword and armor, if he is a knight? Why does he let a lad so young rove the world alone in search of a knight’s trappings?”

Cray had long since devised his explanation. “My. father was killed far from home many years ago. His own armor was never recovered.”

“You must have uncles, cousins to help you.”

“I have no one but my mother, sir.”

The captain squinted at Gallant. “There’s a fine horse, I think. Your mother must be rich to buy him for you. Who is she?”

“Delivev Ormoru of Castle Spinweb.”

The stocky man’s florid complexion washed white. When he spoke next, his voice was very soft, your mother is the sorceress called the Weaver?“

“She is.”

He bowed low. “If you will dismount, young sir you may enter the Great House. The supper is being served even now in the main hall, and I am sure the lord will be pleased to seat you there. We will see to your horse.”

Cray found himself surprised by the sudden respect engendered by his mother’s name, but then he chided himself for that surprise. This town and this fortress were his mother’s nearest neighbors, the ordinary mortals most likely to know of her. And obviously they feared her. He wondered what his sweet and gentle mother might have done that could make them fear her.

He slid from the saddle and banded Gallant’s reins to the captain. “You are very kind, sir,” he said.

“Please come this way,” said the captain. He led Cray and the horse into the courtyard, where he passed the horse to the first subordinate he encountered, cautioning him to care well for the animal. Cray he conducted to the keep.

Inside the stone tower, a short corridor gave into a large, open room filled with people eating the evening meal. Tall slit windows admitted the last rays of the sun, and torches at short intervals along the walls added their flickering yellow to the scene. Upon a dais at the far end of the room, a small knot of talkers waved fowl joints to emphasize their words. One of the men was clothed in deep blue, with a gold necklet at his throat; the captain approached him, bowed low, and whispered in his ear. The man’s bushy

eyebrows rose as he listened, and the eyes that looked out at Cray from beneath those brows held both awe and disbelief. His hands tightened upon the arms of his chair, as if he felt he might be dragged from the seat at any moment.

“You say… you are the son of the Weaver of Spinweb,” he said.

Cray bowed. “I am that, my lord. My name is Cray.”

“You have come to buy… arms and armor—is that it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“There is no other reason? Your mother is not… displeased with us, I hope?”