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

“These are fine things, my lady,” said the troubadour, “for such a short stay as mine.”

“It was a long ride, was it not? The return will be no less.” She waved, and the servant rewrapped the bundle and bore it away. “They will be waiting for you with your mount.

And you will be cared for on your return journey as you were before.”

He bowed. “I am grateful for your hospitality, both here and on the road.”

“I would give you silver as well, but I have little use for it and so acquire it seldom.”

“There is no need for silver, my lady. There is no need for payment of any kind. I will profit from this visit with you for many years to come.”

“How so?”

He smiled again. “In the telling of the tale, of course. I warrant it will bring me silver enough for ten men. I have sung for a beautiful sorceress, ridden magical steeds, been served by all manner of wondrous creatures. This is a great gift you have given me, my lady. Far more than I have given you.” He looked into her eyes. “I would that there were something I could give you, besides a few songs.”

She shook her head. “Nothing that I want is within your power to give. Go now, Master Lorien. Spinweb is too lonely for one of your kind.”

“Not too lonely for you, my lady?”

“No. Not for me.”

He bowed once more. “As you wish.”

The vine-steed waited in the warm morning air, the package of clothing like a pillow upon its back. Lorien mounted, and the tendrils clutched him and his reward alike.

“Will I ever see you again?” he asked of Delivev, standing before the gate of her home.

“No, never. But I will see you.”

“As you saw your son last night?”

“Just so.”

“Then… sometimes… should I seem to smile for no reason, you’ll know that I smile for you.”

“Thank you, Master Lorien. And farewell.” She raised an arm, and the vine-steed wheeled and broke into a gallop.

Lorien waved once before the forest swallowed him up.

She stood there a moment, her back to the gate, her mind following the trail of his mount among the trees. A breeze stirred her hair, cool and damp, smelling of rain. She would make a shelter for him when it came, of interlaced branches and broad leaves.

“Yes, I am lonely, Master Lorien,” she said, though he could not hear. “But not for you.”

She went inside, and the gate barred itself behind her.



Gildrum passed briefly through the demon world, as it always did when leaving