"David Farland - Runelords 1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farland David)

heavy guard, but this time his father had implored him to take a little side excursion, saying, "You must study Heredon. A land
is more than its castles and soldiers. In Bannisferre you will fall in love with this land, and its people, as I have."
The young woman squeezed his hand tighter.
Pain showed in her brow as she watched the flower girls. Gaborn suddenly realized what she was, how desperately this
young woman needed him. Gaborn nearly laughed, for he saw how easily she could have bewitched him.
He squeezed her hand, warmly, as a friend. He felt certain that he could have nothing to do with her, yet he wished her well.
"My name is Myrrima..." she said, leaving a silence for him in which to offer his own name.
"A beautiful name, for a beautiful girl."
"And you are?"
"Thrilled by intrigue," he said. "Aren't you?"
"Not always." She smiled, a demand for his name.
Twenty paces behind, Borenson tapped the scabbard of his saber against a passing goat cart, a sign that he'd left his post at
the hostel's doorway and was now following. The Days would be at his side.
Myrrima glanced back. "He's a fine-looking guardsman."
"A fine man," Gaborn agreed.
"You are traveling on business? You like Bannisferre?"
"Yes, and yes."
She abruptly pulled her hand away. "You don't make commitments easily," she said, turning to face him, her smile faltering
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just a bit. Perhaps she sensed now that the chase was up, that he would not marry her.
"No. Never. Perhaps it is a weakness in my character," Gaborn said.
"Why not?" Myrrima asked, still playful. She stopped by a fountain where a statue of Edmon Tillerman stood holding a pot
with three spigots that poured water down over the faces of three bears.
"Because lives are at stake," Gaborn answered. He sat at the edge of the fountain, glanced into the pool. Startled by his
presence, huge polliwogs wriggled down into the green water. "When I commit to someone, I accept responsibility for them. I
offer my life, or at least a portion of it. When I accept someone's commitment, I expect nothing less than total commitment--
their lives--in return. This reciprocal relationship is...it must define me."
Myrrima frowned, made uneasy by his serious tone. "You are not a merchant. You...talk like a lord!"
He could see her considering. She would know he was not of Sylvarresta's line, not a lord from Heredon. So he would have
to be a foreign dignitary, merely traveling in Heredon, an out-of-the-way country, one of the farthest north in all the Kingdoms
of Rofehavan.
"I should have known--you are so handsome," she said. "So you're a Runelord, come to study our land. Tell me, do you like
it enough to seek betrothal to Princess Iome Sylvarresta?"
Gaborn admired the way that she drew the proper conclusion. "I'm surprised at how green your land is, and how strong your
people are," Gaborn said. "It is richer than I'd imagined."
"Will Princess Sylvarresta accept you?" Still, she was searching for answers. She wondered which poor castle he hailed
from. She sat beside him on the edge of the fountain.
Gaborn shrugged, feigning less concern than he felt. "I know her only by reputation," he admitted. "Perhaps you know her
better than I. How do you think she will look on me?"
"You are handsome enough," Myrrima said, frankly studying his broad shoulders, the long dark-brown hair that fell from
under his plumed cap. By now she must have realized he was not dark enough of hair to be from Muyyatin, or any of the
Indhopalese nations.
Then she gasped, eyes going wide.
She stood up quickly and stepped back, unsure whether to remain standing, curtsy, or fall down and prostrate herself at his
feet. "Forgive me, Prince Orden--I, uh--did not see your resemblance to your father!"
Myrrima lurched back three paces, as if wishing she could run blindly away, for she now knew that he was not the son of
some poor baron who called a pile of rocks his fortress, but that he came from Mystarria itself.
"You know my father?" Gaborn asked, rising and stepping forward. He took her hand once again, trying to reassure her that
no offense had been taken.
"I--once he rode through town, on his way to the hunt," Myrrima said. "I was but a girl. I can't forget his face."