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

“You asked for alms, did you not?” He shrugged. “Besides,we may find you some useful work at Falconhill. I have heard that it is a great holding.”

“But your father—the danger—”

“You can always tell them you met me on the road and hardly know me at all.” He kicked Gallant to a faster pace. “There is the village already. We can stop and fill our flasks at their well.”

Small, dirty children ceased their play to point and exclaim at the beautiful horse as Gallant walked slowly past the low wall that marked the village boundary. The well was in the center of the enclosed space, and when Cray and Sepwin dismounted there, the children crowded around them, stroking the horse’s legs and flanks, as high as they could reach. Although Gallant tolerated this attention quietly enough, with Cray standing at its head muttering soothing nonsense, a woman ran from one of the huts and pulled the children away one by one, scolding sharply.

“An animal that large,” she said, her voice pitched to rise above the tumult of their complaints. “You don’t know what he’ll do, you little fools. Get away now, get away from him!”

“A fair morning to you, good wife,” Cray said, smiling broadly. “It’s a wise mother that looks after her young ones so well.”

She glared at him. “Who are you, stranger, and what do you want?”

“My friend and I have been long upon the road, good lady, and we came to ask if we might fill our flasks and water our horse at your well.”

“I suppose you may. There’s a trough for the horse.” She flicked a thumb toward a low wooden basin some paces from the well. “Fill it at your pleasure.” She walked away.

Cray smiled again and nodded at her retreating back, and then he dropped the bucket into the well and began hauling water up. He had scarcely splashed the first measure into the trough when he felt a small hand tugging at his surcoat. He looked down at a tow-headed child of six or seven summers. “Yes?”

“May I ride the horse?”

Cray squatted beside her. “It’s a very big horse, child.”

“I wouldn’t fall off.”

“Well, what would your mother say to that?”

“You could walk beside me.”

“And what if you fell off on the other side?”

“Your friend could walk there.”

Cray had to smile. “If you’ll wait till my horse has had a drink, I’ll let you ride him, but just for a little time, because we have a long journey ahead of us.”

The child nodded and sat down with her back against the stones of the well. In the shade of the nearest hut, half a dozen paces away, her playmates whispered and giggled among themselves, but none dared join her.

Cray filled the trough and stood by while Gallant drank and Sepwin drew another bucket to replenish the flasks. Before long, three more villagers, men this time, approached the strangers, walking a wide circle about the well. Cray smiled at each of them in turn, and when he judged they had looked their fill, he hailed the brawniest of the lot.

“Would you have a horse for sale, good sir?”

The man crossed his arms upon a massive chest and said, “You have a horse, I see.”

“But none for my friend,” Cray replied. “His mount died some days ago, and we have not found another for him yet. We thought you might have an extra animal here.”

“How did his horse die?” asked the man.

“A misstep upon the road. The poor creature broke its leg and we were forced to destroy it.”