"Katherine Kerr - Deverry 10 - The Black Raven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kerr Katherine)

"You did find it in a border village or suchlike?'
'I didn't, but in a dwarven holt. It be about the telling of omens in the
signs of Earth.'
Raena tossed up her head and took a quick step back. Verrarc laid the scroll
onto the table.
'What be so wrong?' he said.
'Oh, naught, naught.' Yet she laid a hand on her throat, and her face had
turned a bit pale. 'I did forget that you trade among the Mountain Folk.'
'Every summer, truly.' Verrarc caught her hand and drew her close. 'You look
frightened.'
'Be not so foolish!' Raena laughed, but it was forced. 'Come, my love, kiss
me.'
It was an order he followed gladly, but later, when he had time to think, he
wondered why she'd looked so afraid of his going among the Mountain People.
Was there something there she didn't want him to find? Or could it be that
she'd sheltered among them during one of her strange disappearances? Her
secrets again, her cursed wretched secrets!
All his life Verrarc had craved the witch-knowledge and magical power. When he
thought back, it seemed to him that he'd always known that such things
existed, even though logically there was no way he could have known. As a
child, he'd sought out the tales told in the market place or in the ancient
songs, passed down from one scop to another, that told of sorcery and the
strange powers of the witch road. When, as an older Boy, he'd travelled with
his father to Dwarveholt, he'd heard more and learned more in the strange
little human villages on the borders of that country. Here and there he asked
questions; once he grew into a man, he'd been given a few cautious answers.
The men of Dwarveholt proper professed to know nothing about such things, but
the odd folk in the villages always had some tale or bit of lore to pass on.
Finally his persistence brought success. On one journey a half-human trader
had offered him a leather-bound book, written in the language of the Slavers.
It was old, very old, or so the trader said, written by a priest named
Cadwallon when the Slavers had first invaded the western lands. The price was
steep, the writing faded and hard on the eyes - he'd paid over the jewels
demanded without hesitating.
Together he and Raena had studied that book. He would read a passage aloud;
they would puzzle over it until they forced some sense out of the lines. Both
of them showed a gift for the witch road, as Rhiddaer folk called the dweomer,
and together they learned a few tricks and a fair bit of lore. The marriage
her parents arranged for her had interrupted them - for a while. On the
pretext of visiting her husband, Chief Speaker in the town of Penli, he'd
ridden her way often and spent time with her, until their studies revived
their love-affair one drowsy summer afternoon. Her husband had discovered the
truth and cast her out, setting her free to disappear from the Rhiddaer for
two years.
Where had she gone? Verrarc could only wonder. She had never told him. Now and
then she would visit him, turning up suddenly from nowhere, it seemed, as on
that morning when he'd ensorcelled young Jahdo. She would drop a few hints
about strange gods and stranger magicks, then be off once more. Certainly
she'd learned more about witchery than he had thought possible. But this
knowledge she refused to share.