"Kurtz, Katherine - Deryni Chronicles 01 - Deryni Rising 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kurtz Katherine)

For
CARL M. SELLE who knew all along that it would begin this way.
A Del Rey Book
.Published by Ballantine Books
Copyright (c) 1970 by Katherine Kurtz
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by BaUantine Books, a division of Random House, Iflc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
ISBN 0-345-30426-8
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: August 1970 Twelfth Printing: October 1983
Cover art by Darrell K. Sweet

DERYNI RISING

CHAPTER ONE
"Lest the hunter become the hunted."

BRION HALDANE, King of Gwynedd, Prince of Meara, and Lord of the Purple March, reined in his horse sharply at the top of the hill and scanned the horizon.
He was not a big man, though regal bearing and a catlike grace had convinced many a would-be adversary that he was. But his enemies rarely had time to notice this technicality.
Dark, lean, with just a trace of grey beginning to show at his temples, in the precise black beard, he commanded instant respect by his mere presence in a room. When he spoke, whether with the crackle of authority or the lower tones of subtle persuasion, men listened and obeyed.
And if fine words could not convince, often the persuasion of cold steel could. The worn scabbard of the broadsword at his side attested to that, as did the slim stiletto in its black suede sheath at his wrist.
The hands that steadied the skittish war horse be-tween his knees were gentle but firm on the red leather reins-the hands of a fighting man, the hands of one accustomed to command.
If one studied him more closely, however, one was forced to revise the original impression of warrior-king. For the wide grey eyes held promise of much more than mere military prowess and expertise. Indeed, they glittered with a shrewd intelligence and wit which were known and admired throughout the Eleven Kingdoms.
And if there were a fleeting aura of mystery, of forbidden magic about this man, that was discussed in whispers, if at all. For at thirty-nine, Brion of Haldane had kept the peace in Gwynedd for nearly fifteen years. The king who now sat his horse at the top of the hill had earned such infrequent moments of pleasure as he now pursued.
Brion slipped his feet from the stirrups and stretched his legs. At mid-morning, the ground fog was just lifting, and the unseasonable cold of the night before still permeated everything. Even the protection of hunting leathers could not wholly prevent the light chain mail beneath Brion's tunic from chilling like ice. And silk beneath the mail was small consolation.
He pulled the crimson wool of his cloak more closely around him, flexed numb fingers in their leather gloves, drew the scarlet hunt cap farther down on his forehead, the white plume floating gently on the still air.
The sounds of voices, barking hounds, the jingle of burnished bits and spurs and other horse noises drifted up on the mist. Turning to look back down the hill, he could catch fleeting glimpses of well-bred horses moving in the fog, their equally well-bred riders resplendent in finely embroidered velvets and polished leather.
Brion smiled at that. For despite the outward show of splendor and self-assurance, he was certain that the riders below were enjoying the jaunt no more than he was. The inclement weather had made the hunt a chore instead of the anticipated pleasure.
Why, oh, why had he promised Jehana there would be venison for her table tonight? He had known, when he said it, that it was too early in the season. Still, one did not break one's promise to a lady-especially when that lady was one's beloved queen and mother of the royal heir.
The low, plaintive call of the hunting horns con-finned his suspicion that the scent was lost, and he sighed resignedly. Unless the weather cleared dramatically, there was little hope of reassembling the scattered pack in anything less than hah* an hour. And with hounds this green, it could be days, even weeks!
He shook his head and chuckled as Tie thought of Ewan-so proud of his new hounds earlier in the week. He knew that the old Marcher lord would have a lot to say about this morning's performance. But however much he might make excuses, Brion was afraid Ewan deserved all the teasing he was certain to get in the weeks to come. A Duke of Claibourne should have known better than to bring such puppies out in the field this early in the season.
The poor pups have probably never even seen a deer!
The sound of closer hoof beats reached Brion's ears, and he turned in the saddle to see who was approaching. At length, a young rider in scarlet silks and leathers emerged from the fog and urged his bay gelding up the bill. Brion watched with pride as the boy slowed his mount to a walk and reined in at his father's side.
"Lord Ewan says it will be awhile, Sire," the boy reported, his eyes sparkling with the excitement of the chase. *The hounds flushed some rabbits."
"Rabbits!" Brion laughed out loud. "You mean to tell me that after all the boasting we've had to endure for the past week, Ewan's going to make us sit here and freeze while he rounds up his puppy dogs?"
"So it appears, Sire," Kelson grinned. "But if it's any consolation, everyone in the hunt feels exactly the same way."
He has his mother's smile, Brion thought fondly. But the eyes, the hair, are mine. He seems so young, though. Can it really be nearly fourteen years? Ah, Kelson, if only I could spare you what lies ahead . . . Brion dismissed the thought with a smile and a shake of the head. "Well, as long as everybody else is miserable, I suppose I feel a bit better."
He yawned and stretched, then relaxed in the saddle. The polished leather creaked as his weight shifted, and Brion sighed.
"Ah, if Morgan were only here. Fog or no fog, I think he could charm the deer right to the city gates if he chose."
"Really?" Kelson asked.
"Well, perhaps not quite that close," Brion conceded. "But he has a way with animals-and other things." The king grew suddenly distant, and he toyed absently with the riding crop in his gloved hand.
Kelson caught the change of mood, and after a studied pause he moved his horse closer to the older man. His father had not been entirely open about Morgan in the past few weeks. And the absence of conversation about the young general had been keenly felt. Perhaps this was the time to pursue the matter. He decided to be blunt.
"Sire, forgive me if I speak out of turn, but why haven't you recalled Morgan from the border marches?"
Brion felt himself go tense, forced himself to conceal his surprise. How had the boy known that? Morgan's whereabouts had been a closely guarded secret for nearly two months now. Not even the Council knew just where he was, or why. He must tread softly until he could ascertain just how much the boy knew,
"Why do you ask, Son?"
"I don't mean to pry, Sire," the boy replied. "Fm certain you have reasons even the Council isn't aware of. I've missed him, though. And I $ink you have, too."
Khadasa! The boy was perceptive! It was as though he'd read the unspoken thoughts. If he was to avoid the Morgan question, he would have to steer Kelson away from the subject quickly.
Brion permitted himself a wan smile. "Thanks for your vote of confidence. I'm afraid you and I are among the few who've missed him, however. I'm sure you're aware of the rumors afoot in the past weeks."
"That Morgan is out to depose you?" Kelson replied guardedly. "You don't really believe that, do you? And that isn't the reason he's still at Cardosa, either."
Brion studied the boy out of the corner of his eye, his crop tapping lightly against his right boot where Kelson couldn't see it. Cardosa, even.
The boy certainly had a good source of information, whatever it was. And he was persistent, too. He had deliberately turned the conversation back to Morgan's absence, despite his father's efforts to avoid the issue. Perhaps he'd misjudged the boy. He tended to forget that Kelson was nearly fourteen, of legal age. Brion himself had been only a few years older when he came to the throne.