"Jude Fisher - Fool's Gold 01 - Sorcery Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fisher Jude)

been in the first flush of youth or have possessed the keenest eyes."
The Istrian thought for a moment. He inclined his head. "That is indeed possible, sir.
The Dystras are quite elderly men. Maybe they were mistaken. I hope so for your
daughter's sake, for the tale is becoming quite widespread and the officers are searching
for the trespasser. She may encounter certain . . . difficulties around the Fair if others leap
to the same conclusion."
Aran held his gaze with complete composure, then the Istrian lord nodded. "May you
have a fortunate Fair," he said formally, and walked away. His fine blue cloak rode the
breeze behind him as if by elegant design.
The Eyrans watched him go. When he was well out of earshot, Aran grabbed Katla by
the shoulder. "You little witch! I promised your mother I would not let you out of my
sight, and already you're in the deepest of trouble." He looked her up and down, taking in
her short tunic, her bare legs and unkempt mane. Then, without a word, he caught her in
an armlock and grabbed the ornamented knife Katla wore always at her waist belt. "Hold
her hair up for me, Fent," he said in a tone that brooked no refusal.
Erno, standing behind them, gasped. Katla, realizing what her father was about to do,
struggled. But her father was more than a match for her in comparison to the untrained
lads against whom she had wrestled and won at the summer games. Tightening the hold
with one arm, he sawed at the handfuls of flaming hair that Fent, with a pained
expression, held up taut for the knife. The tempered blade, one of the best Katla had ever
made and of which she was inordinately proud, proved its worth by shearing through her
tangled locks as if through finest silk. Great swaths of hair floated to the ground to glow
like the fire that had once created the black ash upon which it fell.
"Gather it up," Aran said to Erno, who hesitated, then dropped to his knees and
started to stuff it into his shirt.
Seconds later, Aran let his daughter go. She stood there for a moment like a cornered
bear, the fury emanating from her in waves. Then she turned and ran as if all the devils in
the world were after her.
Fent stared at the piece of hair he was still grasping—warm in his hands, like a little
living creature of flame—then dropped it slowly to the ground. He looked up at his father.
Aran grimaced. "It's for her own good. If they find her, they'll want to burn her."
He stuck the dagger into his own belt and rubbed his hands conclusively on his leather
jerkin. Fine strands of red gold drifted away on the breeze. Aran watched them spiral
away with an unreadable expression on his face, then with a barked order to the lads,
started down to the strand to see to the sardonyx.
Erno exchanged glances with Fent, his face grim and strained. Fent stared back, his
fair features in sharp contrast to his father's. "You heard what he said." And when Erno
hesitated, "It won't come to that. If they try to take Katla, all of Eyra will be up in arms."
He kicked dust over the lock of hair, then stowed the mallet and remaining pegs swiftly
inside the tent. "Come on."
They ran to catch up with the receding figure of the clan leader.
 Chapter 2: The Footloose
SARO Vingo and his older brother Tanto had just finished grooming the second group
of Vingo family bloodstock—a dozen of the finest Istrian colts: all dainty narrow heads,
sheeny coats, long-limbed skittishness, and sharp yellow teeth—and thanks to the latter,
specifically a one-year-old beauty called Night's Harbinger, a tricksy beast with a dubious
temperament, Tanto was sitting on the ground, nursing a bitten forearm.
"Bastard creature!" He rubbed the skin ferociously. Distinct tooth marks showed up
purple-red against the brown, testament to where Tanto had lost his temper with Night's
Harbinger—a fine-boned bay with a single white star on its forehead—and gripped him