"Raymond E. Feist - Kingdom of the Isles 2 - The King's Buccaneer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

Nicholas said, "Harry the lady's man. Lock up your daughters, Krondor."

After the bright afternoon sunlight, the hallway was positively gloomy. At the
end of the hall, they turned up stairs that took them out of the servants'
area to the apartments of the royal family. At the top of the stairs, they
opened the door and peeked through. Seeing no one of rank, the two boys
hurried to their respective doors, located halfway down the hall from the
servants' door. Between this door and his own a mirror hung, and, catching his
own reflection, Nicholas said, "It's a good thing Father didn't see us."

Nicholas entered his own quarters, a large pair of rooms, with enormous
closets and a private garderobe, so he didn't have to leave the room to
relieve himself. He quickly stripped off his wet clothing and dried himself.
He turned and caught sight of himself in a large mirror, a luxury of immense
value, as it was fashioned from silvered glass imported from Kesh. His
body—that of a boy on the way to becoming a man—showed a broadening chest and
shoulders; he had a man's growth of body hair, as well as a need to shave
daily. But his face was still a boy's, lacking the set of features that only
time can give.

As he finished drying, he looked at his left foot as he had every day of his
life. A ball of flesh, with tiny protuberances that should have been toes,
extended from the base of an other-

14 Raymond E. Feist

wise well-formed left leg. The foot had been the object of medicine and magic
since his birth, but had resisted all attempts at healing. No less sensitive
to touch and sensation as the right foot, it nevertheless was difficult for
Nicholas to command; the muscles were connected incorrectly to bones the wrong
size to perform the tasks nature intended. Like most people with a lifetime
affliction, Nicholas had compensated to the point of rarely being aware of it.
He walked with only a slight limp. He was an excellent swordsman, perhaps the
equal of his father, who was counted the best in the Western Realm. The Palace
Swordmaster judged him as already a better swordsman than his two elder
brothers were at his age. He could dance, as required by his office—son of the
ruler of the Western Realm —but die one thing that he could not compensate for
was a terrible reeling that he was somehow less than he should be.

Nicholas was a soft-spoken, reflective youngster who preferred the quiet
solitude of his father's library to the more boisterous activities of most
boys his age. He was an excellent swimmer, a fine horseman, and a fair archer
in addition to being skilled at swordplay, but all his life he had felt
deficient. A vague sense of failure, and a haunting guilt, seemed to fill him
unexpectedly, and often he would find his mind seized by dark brooding. With
company, he was often merry and enjoyed a joke as well as the next boy, but if
left alone, Nicholas found his mind seized by worry. That had been one reason
Harry had come to Krondor.

As he dressed, Nicholas shook his head in amusement. His companion for the