"02 - The Hawk Eternal 1.1a" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

'No. Old men talk to themselves. How are you feeling?'

'Good.'

'Sleep is the remedy for many of life's ills. Especially loss of blood.'

'It's peaceful here,' said Gaelen. 'I don't normally sleep so much, even when I've been hurt. Is there anything I can do to help you? I don't want to be a burden.'

'Young man, you are not a burden. You are a guest. Do you know what that means?'

'No.'

'It means you are a friend who has come to stay for a while,' the old man told him, laying his hand on the boy's arm. 'It means you owe me nothing.'

'Caswallon pays you to look after me," said Gaelen, pulling his arm away from Oracle's touch.

'No, he does not. Nor will he. Though he may bring a joint of venison, or a sack of vegetables the next time he comes.' Oracle left the bedside to add several chunks of wood to the fire. 'It's so wasteful,' he called back, 'keeping a fire here in spring. But the cave gets cold and my blood is running thin.'

'It's nice,' said Gaelen. 'I like to see a fire burning.'

'Chopping wood keeps my body from seizing up,' said the old man, returning to the bedside. 'Now, what would you like to know?"

Gaelen shrugged. 'About what?'

'About anything."

'You could tell me about the clans. Where did they come from?'

'A wise choice,' said Oracle, sitting at the bedside. 'There are more than thirty clans, but originally there was one: the Farlain. Under their leader, Farla the First, they journeyed to Druin more than six hundred years ago, escaping some war in their homeland. The Farlain settled in the valley below here, and two neighbouring valleys to the east. They prospered and multiplied. But, as the years passed, there was discord and several families broke from the clan. There was a little trouble and some fighting, but the new clan formed their own settlements and began calling themselves Pallides, which in the old tongue meant Seekers of New Trails. In the decades that followed other splits developed, giving birth to the Haesten, the

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Loda, the Dunilds and many more. There have been several wars between the clans. In the last, more than one hundred years ago, six thousand men lost their lives. Then the mighty king Ironhand put an end to it. He gave us wisdom - and the Games.'

'What are the Games?' asked Gaelen.

'Tests of skill in a score of disciplines. Archery, swordsmanship, racing, jumping, wrestling... many, many events. All the clans take part. It lasts two weeks from Midsummer's Night, and concludes with the Whorl Feast. You will see it this year - and you will never forget it.'

'What are the prizes?'

'Pride is the prize - and always has been.' The old man's blue eyes twinkled. 'Well, pride and a small sack of gold. Caswallon took gold in the archery last year. A better bowman has never been seen in these mountains.'

Tell me of him.'

The old man chuckled and shook his head. 'Caswallon. Always the children seek stories of Caswallon. If Caswallon were a swallow he would stay north for the winter, just to see how cold it gets. What can any man tell you of Caswallon?'

'Is he a warrior?'

'He is certainly that, but then most clansmen are. He is good with sword and knife, though others are better. He is an expert hunter and a good provider.'