"1 - Ghost King (v1.0)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

'How do you know that I am lost?' he countered.
The girl stepped away from the tree beside the trail and Thuro saw that she was carrying a beautiful bow of dark horn. 'You may not be lost,' she said, smiling. 'It may be that you found your tracks so fascinating that you decided you just had to see them again.'
'I concede,' he told her. 'I am seeking Deicester Castle.'
'You have friends there?'
'My father is there. We are guests.'
'A fortune would not induce me to be a guest of that foul family,' she told him. 'Continue on this path until you come to a lightning-blasted oak, then bear right and follow the stream. It will save you time.'
'Thank you. What is your name?'
'Names are for friends, young lordling, not to be bandied about amongst strangers.'
'Strangers can become friends. In fact, all friends were at some time strangers.'
'All too true,' she admitted. 'But to speak more bluntly, I have no wish to strike up a friendship with a guest of Eldared's.'
'I am sorry that you feel this way. It seems a great shame that to sleep in a cold and draughty castle somehow stains the spirit of a man. For what it is worth, my name is Thuro.'
'You do speak prettily, Thuro,' she said, smiling, 'and you have a wonderful eye for horses. Come, join me for the midday meal.'
Thuro did not question her sudden change of heart but dismounted and led his horse away from the trail, following the girl into the trees and up a winding track to a shallow cave under a sandstone rock-face. Here a fire had burned low under a copper pot perched on two stones. Thuro tied the mare's reins to a nearby bush and moved to the fire where the girl joined him. She added oats to the boiling water, and a pinch of salt from a small pouch at her side. 'Gather some wood,' she told him, 'and earn your food.' He did as she bid, gathering thick branches from beside the track and carrying them back to the cave.
'Are you planning to light a beacon fire?' she asked when he returned.
'I do not understand,' he said.
'This is a cooking fire. It is intended to heat the oats and water, and to give us warmth for an hour or so. The wocd you need should be dry and no thicker than a thumb-joint. Have you never set a cooking fire?'
'No, I regret that is a pleasure I have not yet encountered.'
'How old are you?'
'I shall be judged a man next autumn,' he said, somewhat stiffly. 'And you?'
'The same as you, Thuro. Fifteen.'
'I shall fetch some more suitable wood.' he said.
'Get yourself a platter at the same time.'
'A platter?'
'How else will you eat your oats?'
Thuro was angry as he left the cave - an emotion he rarely felt and with which he was exceedingly uncomfortable. As he had followed the forest girl he had become acutely aware of the rhythmic movement of her hips and the liquid grace of her walk. By contrast he had begun to feel he was incapable of putting one foot in front of the other without tripping himself. His feet felt twice their size. He longed to do something to impress her, and for the first time in his young life wished he were a shade more like his father. Pushing the thoughts from his mind he gathered wood for the fire, finding also a round flat stone to serve as a platter for his food.
'Are you hungry?' she asked.
'Not very.' Using a short stick, she expertly lifted the pot from the flames and stirred the thick milky contents. He passed her his rock and she giggled.
'Here,' she said, offering him her own wooden plate. 'Use this.'
'The rock will be fine.'
'I am sorry, Thuro; it is unfair of me to mock. It is not your fault you are a lordling; you should have brought your servant with you.'
'I am not a lordling, I am a prince: the son of Maximusthe High King. And doubtless were you to be sitting in the hall of Caerlyn, you would feel equally ill at ease discussing the merits of Plutarch's Life of Lycurgus.'
Her eyes sparkled and Thuro realised they echoed the russet tones of her hair - light brown with flecks of gold.
'You are probably correct, Prince Thuro,' she said with a mock bow, 'for I was never at ease with Lycurgus and I agree with Plutarch in his comparison with Numa. How did he put it? "Virtue rendered the one so respectable as to deserve a throne, and the other so great as to be above it".'
Thuro returned the bow, but without mockery. 'Forgive my arrogance,' he told her. 'I am not used to feeling this foolish.'
'You are probably more at ease chasing stags and practising with sword and lance.'
'No, I am rather poor in those quarters also. I am the despair of my father. I had hoped to impress you with my knowledge, for there is little else I have to brag of.'
She looked away and poured the cooling oats to her platter, then passed the food to Thuro. 'My name is Laitha. Welcome to my hearth, Prince Thuro.' He searched her face for any hint of mockery, but there was none.
He accepted the food and ate in silence. Laitha put down the pot and leaned back against the cave wall, watching the young man. He was handsome in a gentle fashion and his eyes were grey as woodsmoke, softly sad and wondrous innocent. Yet for all the gentleness Laitha saw, she found no trace of weakness in his face. The eyes did not waver or turn aside, the mouth showed no hint of petulance. And his open admission of his own physical shortcomings endeared him to the girl, who had seen enough of loud-mouthed braggarts vying to prove their strength and manhood.
'Why do you not excel?' she asked him. 'Is your sword-master a poor teacher?'
'I have no interest in sword-play. It tires me and then I fall ill.'
'In what way ill?'
He shrugged. 'I am told I almost died at birth, and since then my chest has been weak. I cannot exert myself without becoming dizzy -and then my head pounds and sometimes I lose my sight.'
'How does your father react to all this?'
'With great patience and great sadness - I fear I am not the son he would have preferred. But it does not matter. He is as strong as an ox and as fearless as a dragon. He will reign for decades yet - and perhaps he will marry again and sire a proper heir.'
'What happened to your mother?'
'She died two days after I was born. The birth was early by a month and Maedhlyn - our Enchanter - was absent on the king's business.'
'And your father never remarried? Strange for a king.'
'I have never spoken to him of it... but Maedhlyn says she was the still water in his soul and after she had gone there was only fire. There is a wall around Maximus and his grief. None may enter. He cannot look me in the face, for I am much like my mother. And in all the time I can remember he has never touched me - not an arm on the shoulder nor the ruffling of a single hair. Maedhlyn tells that when I was four I was struck down with a terrible fever and my spirit was lost within the darkness of the Void. He says my father came to me then and took me in his arms, and his spirit searched for mine across the darkness. He found me and brought me home. But I remember nothing of it and that saddens me. I would like to be able to recall that moment.'
'He must love you greatly,' she whispered.
'I do not know.' He looked up at her and smiled. 'Thank you for the oats. I must be going.'