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

“No, my Gildrum. Not yet.”

“And not now.” His form wavered, shrank, altered to that of the fourteen-year-old girl, naked in the light of the brazier. “Will you give me the seed for the child, my lord? Or must I find some beggar on the road?”

He took her hand. “I’ll give it.”



Rain poured down upon the forest from clouds crowded close above the treetops. On the muddy track below, a large black horse, tail and mane matted with wet and filth, trudged toward the nearest sign of life, a high-spired castle overgrown with ivy. The horse’s rider slumped forward over the pommel of the saddle, one arm hanging limp on either side of his steed’s drooping neck. He was dressed in chain mail, a mud-spattered surcoat plastered atop the links; he had no helm, and his shield hung by a loose strap, bouncing against his leg in the slow rhythm of the horse’s walk. On his left side, where the surcoat was ripped and the chain snapped to make a hole a hand-span wide, blood seeped out sluggishly, easing down his thigh in a rain-diluted wash.

As they neared the castle, the horse picked up its pace, sensing the shelter ahead. The storm drove from beyond the fortress, and so there was respite from both wind and wet in its lee. Almost at the arch of the gate, the animal stopped and bent to drink from a puddle and to crop a bit of soaked grass; its rider fell then, slid silently off its back and dropped to the mud in an awkward heap.

Inside, warm and dry and surrounded by the things she loved, was Delivev Ormoru, mistress of Castle Spinweb. She expected no visitors, neither on a stormy night nor a clear one; no one had knocked at the gates of Spinweb in many years, and she was pleased with that state of affairs. But when the ivy curled in her bedroom window, when a small brown spider scurried across its tendrils to report a stranger outside, she was curious. The stranger had not requested entry, had not pounded on the heavy wooden gate or shouted or beat sword upon shield to attract attention through the noise of the storm, yet why would he be there but to enter? She looked out her window, but the outer wall was too high for her to see anything close beneath it. She could have spun a web to view there, but walking would take no greater time, so she went.

The gateroom was wide, floored with polished stone, and hung with thick tapestries against drafts. Even so, she felt the storm there. Through a peephole in the carven portal, she saw darkness, streaming rain, and then, by a flash of lightning, him lying on the ground, the horse grazing nearby. She opened the door. Her first impulse was to step outside and turn him over with her own hands to see if he were dead, but she stifled that and sent a few snakes instead, in case he should be shamming with evil intent. The snakes were not happy to be out in the wet, but they obeyed. They nosed about the body, which did not move, and they reported it warm and breathing and leaking blood. She waved an arm, and they wriggled under him, a living mattress, living rollers to move him over the rain-slick grass. They conveyed him through the door. The horse shied at the snakes, rearing wide-eyed and snorting, and Delivev had to grasp its bridle in her hands and murmur many calming words before she could coax it inside. She locked the gate behind it then, locked the storm out and the stranger and his horse in her home.

She led the animal to the roofed-over courtyard that sheltered many of her own pets and left it there with a mound of towels rubbing it down sans human assistance. She returned to the gateroom to find the snakes arrayed in a ring about the injured knight, who lay unmoving upon the floor, his limbs at odd angles, water dripping from his flesh and clothing. A red stain was forming at his left side. Delivev found the wound quickly, guessed it a mighty sword cut so to cleave through heavy chain mail, and wondered why the young knight’s opponent had not finished him. Because the linking pattern of the chain lay within the province of her magic, though the metal itself did not, she scattered it with a nod. His clothing parted as well, exposing him naked to her ministrations, and while she bound his side she could not help admiring his youthful beauty. She felt of his head for fever and found none, though her fingers lingered long upon his cheeks. She leaned her ear against his chest and heard his heart beat strong and steady beneath the smooth skin, beneath the firm muscle. She chafed his wrists and spoke softly to him, and at last his eyelids flickered.

His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“I am Delivev Ormoru. Your horse brought you to my home.”

“You are kind to take me in.”

“I could not leave a wounded man to the storm.”

“My name is Mellor,” he said, and then he gasped and clutched with weak hands at his side.

“You must not speak. There will be time for that later.” She summoned a blanket, wrapped him in it, motioned the snakes to crawl under him once more and transport him to an inner room and a couch. His eyes widened at the sight of the snakes, at their undulating touch, but he said nothing. “I am a sorceress,” she said. “These are my servants, and they will not harm you.”

He smiled his trust, and she smiled back, and as the snakes bore him into the heart of her castle, he found himself staring at her. She walked beside him, her gown of green feathers swaying with each step. She wore feathers, he knew, so that no one could turn her magic back upon her person, and even her hair, cut to many lengths, seemed like a crown of brown feathers on her head. How beautiful she is, thought Gildrum, who called himself Mellor.





CHAPTER TWO


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She found him walking in the small garden that her castle walls enclosed. The day was sunny and warm, the climbing roses were in full bloom, the morning glories just closing their, petals to the noon light

“Don’t you think it too soon to be so far from your bed?” she asked, stepping close to take his arm and support him.

“I was feeling well. I heard the birds singing and I couldn’t lie still any longer.” He wore the robe of blue silk she had woven for him, to match his eyes.