"Stephen Lawhead - Dragon King 02 - The Warlords of Nin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

“Then we will wait until you return,” offered Yeseph. Karyll nodded her
agreement
 Quentin smiled sadly. “No, I could not ask that. I do not know when we
may return. Please, do not wait on our account,”
Toli attempted to set the mood in a lighter tone. “Kenta means that if he
were in your place, Yeseph, he would not let so lovely a creature escape
into the arms of another. You must marry as you have planned. We will
return to greet the happy couple before they have been wed a fortnight.”
Yeseph sought Quentin’s eyes. He, as usual, could read more there than
his friend intended. “Is it trouble, then?”
“I fear that it is,” Quentin sighed. “The message did not say it directly,
and the courier did not say more. But he left immediately without awaiting
an answer.”
Yeseph regarded Quentin as he stood before him. From an awkward,
impetuous youth had grown a square-shouldered, sensitive man—tall, lean
in the way young men are, yet without the careless air they often have.
Quentin had a regal bearing, and yet utterly lacked any self-consciousness
of it, or the arrogance that often accompanied such a noble spirit.
A pang of longing ached in the old man’s heart when he saw his young
pupil and protégé wavering, as if on the brink of a great abyss. He wanted
to reach out and pull him back, but he knew he could not. Quentin
belonged to Dekra, yes. But he also belonged to Askelon, and neither
loyalty could he deny.
“You must go, of course.” Yeseph offered a strained smile. “When will
you leave?”
“Tomorrow at dawn. I think it best.”
“Of course. Of course. Do not delay. Besides, the sooner you are off, the
sooner you may return, and perhaps you will bring Bria with you this
time.”
At the mention of the name, Quentin started. He smiled warmly again.
The cold shadow which had fallen upon the happy group moved away,
and in the glimmering of a softly falling twilight they began to talk
excitedly once more of all they would do when next they met.
Despite their desire for an early start the next morning, Quentin and Toli
were the last to leave Yeseph’s house. There had been much singing and
eating and talking. The Elders had blessed the young men’s journey, and
all had listened to stories and songs of the lost Ariga sung by one of the
young Curatak musicians. Then all had made their good-byes, but none
more ardently than did Quentin.
“Look, Kenta,” said Toli as they found their way along the dark and
empty streets. The moon shone full upon the city, pouring out a liquid
silver light upon all it touched.
Quentin followed Toli’s gaze upward toward the sky. “What do you
see?”
“Oh, it is gone now. A star fell, that is all.”
“Hmmm.” Quentin retreated again into his reverie.
He listened to their footsteps echo along the streets and felt Dekra’s
quiet peacefulness enfold him. Then, unaccountably, he shivered, as if
they had just walked through a hanging pool of cooler air. Toli noticed the
quiver of Quentin’s shoulders and looked at his friend.