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

He strummed a chord, and then he smiled a little. “This seems so strange… I am not accustomed to playing for an audience of one, unless that audience were myself alone.”

“There are others listening,” she said.

He looked around. “I see no one. Do you mean behind those windows?” He pointed to slits in the masonry of the keep.

“There are birds,” she said, and a small blue one landed on her shoulder and pecked gently at her earlobe. “And one of my dearest friends will be pleased to listen.” The quick sound of horseshoes on the flagstones made Lorien turn about as a shaggy pony ambled from an open doorway on the shaded side of the garden and went straight to Delivev, nuzzling at her neck and displacing the bird, which jumped down to the bench beside her. She caressed the pony’s face with one hand. “Do you like this audience better?” she asked.

“Is there no one in this castle but you and these animals… and that… servant who let me in yesterday?”

“Spinweb is full of life,” she said, “of various kinds. You shall meet them all if you stay long.”

“How long, fair lady, were you planning on having me here?”

She shrugged. “How long would you stay at any castle?”

“As long as the master let me.”

“And at a wizard’s castle? Not quite so long, yes? Not quite?”

“I don’t know. This is a new experience for me, my lady.”

The pony started toward Lorien and snorted, stretching its neck to reach the troubadour, to nose past the lute to a pouch at his belt. Lorien edged away, down the length of the bench, and the pony followed.

“Are you afraid of a pony?” Delivev asked, smiling at his discomfiture.

“What does he want?”

“An apple, I think, or a carrot. My son always kept something for him in a pouch on his belt. Come, Graylegs, come!” She slapped the pony’s rump, and it lifted its head and looked back at her a moment, then turned about and walked slowly to her. She circled its neck with one arm. “We’ll find you a tasty morsel, my darling, don’t worry,” she murmured. “Just stay here by me and leave the troubadour alone.” To Lorien, she said,

“He’s an ordinary pony, I promise you. There’s no magic in him at all. I merely caused the gate of his stall to unlatch, and so he came to me.”

Lorien grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know what to expect in this castle… after this morning’s meal.”

“Oh? Was something wrong with it?”

“No, no, it was excellent. But the servant who brought it… was rather peculiar.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Her face… was all covered with cloths. I can’t guess how she was able to see or even to breathe. And her hand…” His voice faded away as his gaze, which had been

concentrating on Delivev, shifted to a spot beyond her shoulder.

A snake was slithering across the flags, bearing in its open jaws a large, rosy apple. It presented this apple to Delivev, rising to knee level to drop it in her lap. The pony did not startle at this apparition but rather dipped its head to take the fruit before Delivev could lay a finger on it.

“Greedy creature,” she whispered as it crunched the apple loudly, and she stroked its shaggy mane. When the chewing noises had subsided, she said, “Play, Master Lorien.

Play.” She glanced sidelong at him, then down toward her knee, the direction of his gaze. The snake was still there, swaying slightly, looking up at her. “Does she disturb you?” she asked. “She isn’t venomous. Ah, but she’s quite deaf, so there’s little for her to gain by staying. Be off with you, my pet.” The snake’s head dropped to the ground, and the animal slipped into the bushes. “I promise you,” Delivev said to Lorien, “none of my creatures shall harm you as long as you conduct yourself as a proper guest.”