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

Cray smiled. “I know a few things, especially about spiders. That doesn’t make me a wizard.” He leaned down and extended his hand. “If you’re not afraid of a few spiders, you can still have a ride to the village. I think after that fall you’d rather not walk.”

Sepwin looked up and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I am not afraid,” he said, and he took Cray’s hand and mounted Gallant.

“I haven’t much silver,” Cray said, kicking his horse to a slow walk, “but you’re welcome to a piece of it.”

“Where are you bound, my lord? I mean, Master Cray?”

“For Falconhill, Master Feldar.”

“Where would that be?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Well, neither do I, precisely. It’s in the west somewhere.”

“I am from the south. Somewhere. Have you some business at this Falconhill?”

“Yes, Master Feldar. I seek word of my father, who went to Falconhill once and never returned.”

“Perhaps it is a dangerous place.”

“Perhaps. Would you care to go there?”

“I, sir? Not if it is dangerous.”

“I have been traveling alone for a long time,” said Cray, “and I was thinking that it’s a dull journey without other ears than my horse’s to talk to. And you have no pressing destination.”

“True enough, Master Cray.”

“And you would never go hungry as my companion.”

“You have a compelling argument, young sir. But why would you wish to burden

yourself and your horse with a cripple?”

“Are you so different from other men, Master Feldar?”

He was silent a moment, and then he said resolutely, “No, I am not.”

“Then perhaps we will find you a horse for yourself in this village. Gallant would tire carrying both of us all the time.”

“You would buy me a horse?”

“Don’t expect another like Gallant, though.”

“Master Cray, you are mad to treat a stranger so!”