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

“I’ve eaten worse in my life.”

“I’ll hunt,” Cray repeated firmly. “Take care of Gallant for me?” He took one of his magic nets from a saddlebag. “I won’t be long.”

“Can you hunt without that?” asked Sepwin.

Cray looked down at the gossamer-fine spidersilk in his hands. He hardly felt its weight, and in all but the brightest sunlight it was nigh invisible. “Why would I need to?”

“In case you lost it, of course.”

Cray shrugged. “They are easy enough to make. My mother taught me when I was very young. You could learn the process without any difficulty, I am sure.”

“Me?” said Sepwin.

“There’s a little trick to it, but nothing a diligent student could not master.”

“But I am not a sorcerer, nor even a sorcerer’s child. How could an ordinary mortal learn something like that?”

“Sorcerers were once ordinary mortals,” said Cray. “Or didn’t you know that?”

“But they live so much longer…”

“They became sorcerers through knowledge,” Cray told him. “Knowledge extended

their lives as well as giving them power.”

Sepwin cocked his head to one side and regarded Cray with his one uncovered eye.

“And you? Half of one sort, half of another—which life span will you have?”

Cray fingered the gossamer net. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I don’t know of any others like me, so… I don’t know.” He laughed then. “We’re both a trifle young to be talking of death, don’t you think?”

Sepwin took up Gallant’s reins and those of his own mount. “I have thought about it,” he said. “Someone like me… thinks about it often.”

Cray clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, not now, Master Feldar. Not even though the day be cloudy and promising rain.” He grinned. “And on such a day, I must be off to the hunt without further delay.” With a last glance at the sky, he turned and jogged off into the trees.

As soon as he had passed well out of sight of the hut, Cray spread out his magic net. He laid it at the foot of a tall and gnarly oak, between mighty arching roots, where mushrooms sprouted. He baited the net with herbs from the woodland floor—thyme and marjoram sprigs elaborately knotted together. Then he climbed another tree and hid himself among its leaves to sit, quiet as a bluebird hiding in its nest from hunting hawks.

Shortly, a pair of rabbits approached the oak roots; they circled the tree, nibbling bits of greenery that grew around it, sitting up sometimes, their pink noses twitching as they sniffed the air. First one, then the other edged toward the net, and neither seemed to notice it, even when they stepped upon the fine strands. When they stood head to head, their noses nudging the aromatic bait, Cray gestured with one finger, and the net wrapped about its quarry, enfolding them in webbing light as air but strong as steel.

Again, the rabbits seemed unconcerned. Cray descended from his tree and dispatched them with his knife.

Back at the hut, Sepwin and the old man were getting on well, though Sepwin was swiftly becoming hoarse from so much shouting.

“His family is all gone,” said Sepwin, helping Cray to skin and dress out the two rabbits as their host looked on. “The oldest son died of fever, the youngest ran off to be a tinker, the daughters married away, and his wife died in childbirth with her eighth. He’s lived here alone for the past few years, and he wants us to stay for a month or two to keep him company.”

Cray grinned. “We thank you for such a kind offer of hospitality, good sir,” he said loudly, “but we cannot stay longer than it takes for the big horse to mend. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“A few days then, young sir,” said the old man. “Just a few days. I haven’t seen a human soul since the last daughter left. Too lonely here, she said. She met a man when we took a bull calf to market in the town, and she would marry him, no matter that it meant her old father would be left alone.” He plucked at his short, scraggly white beard with fleshless fingers. “She waved all the way down the road, waved and waved, and then she turned her back and never waved again. I have been lonely, I can tell you.”