"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 02 - Darkspell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

They met deep in the Innerlands in a place where only those who had mastered the heart of the
dweomer could go. In various towns in the kingdom of Deverry, their physical bodies lay asleep in
trance, leaving their minds free to assume a new form and travel far to the ancient grove of oaks that
stood under a dim, pleasant sun. For a thousand years so many dweomer-masters had imagined this
grove, had pictured it with trained minds and discussed its details among themselves, that now the images
lived by themselves in the astral plane. They were always there when those who knew how came to
them.

Those who met had chosen simple images for their minds to wear. Their faces looked like their
physical ones, but their bodies were thin, curiously attenuated, and dressed in a stylized version of
ordinary clothes, the men in white brigga and shirts, the women in white ankle-length dresses. There was
no particular significance to the color white; it simply took less energy to maintain than bright colors. One
at a time they appeared in the grove until at last the full company of thirty-two stood there, drifting above
the insubstantial grass and waiting for the man who’d called this meeting to speak.

He was tall, quite old, with a shock of thick white hair and piercing blue eyes. Although he held the
title of the Master of the Aethyr, he preferred to be known as Nevyn, a name that held a jest, because it
meant ‘no one’. Beside him stood a short, slender man with gray hair and dark eyes that dominated his
face. His name was Aderyn, and technically he had no right to come to the grove, because his Wyrd lay
not with his own humankind, but with the elven race, the Elcyion Lacar, who lived to the west of
Deverry. Yet he had testimony to offer about the strange events that they were meeting to discuss.

‘We’re all here, then?’ Nevyn said at last. ‘Now, you’ve all heard somewhat about what happened
this summer.’

The assembly nodded in agreement, their images mimicking the movements their bodies would have
made. The news had spread that in a remote corner of Eldidd province, a lord named Corbyn had risen
up in rebellion against his overlord, Tieryn Lovyan of Dun Gwerbyn. Normally this would have been of
no concern to the dweomer; rebellions and bloodshed happened all the time in Deverry, and overlords
had armies to deal with such things. But Corbyn had been ensorceled by a dweomer-man gone mad,
Loddlaen by name, who was half-elven, Aderyn’s apprentice. Now Loddlaen was dead, the rebellion
crushed, but the matter was far from settled.

‘As soon as I joined Aderyn here to defeat Loddlaen,’ Nevyn went on, ‘I realized that someone had
ensorceled him and was using him to work harm. Now, that someone had to be a master of the dark
dweomer. Once he realized that he was facing me, he fled. As far as I can tell, he took ship for Bardek.’

The assembly stirred uneasily. Caer, a tall, rangy man whose hazel eyes were green at the moment,
drifted forward to speak.

‘What exactly was the goal of the dark master? Did you ever find that out?’

‘Only in the most vague terms. Tieryn Lovyan has a son named Rhodry. Years ago, I was given an
omen that his Wyrd is crucial to Eldidd, and so I’ve been watching over him. It seems that the whole
point of this cursed war was to kill him. He was leading his mother’s army as cadvridoc, you see.’

‘The dark masters must have discovered the lad’s importance, then,’ a woman named Nesta said.
‘Do you know what his Wyrd may be?’