"Moon, Elizabeth - Deed Of Paksenarrion - 02 - Divided Allegiance V1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

Paks drank her sib, wondering what to make of this. She certainly did not want to admit being frightened of a little magic, but he had seen her reaction. She set the mug down firmly, when she finished, and sat down slowly. "I had not seen that before," she said finally.
"Evidently," he replied. He brought his own mug back to the stack and sat near her. "When I asked," he began again, "everyone assured me that you had an excellent reputation." Paks felt a tingle of irritation: what gave him the right to ask about her? "You were in Phelan's Company, I understand." He looked at her and she nodded. "Yes. One of the other guards had heard about you. Not the usual sort of mercenary, he said." Again Paks felt a flickering anger. "And this evening past, you said you were going north over the mountains before we reached Valdaire. Alone, I assumed—?" Paks nodded again. "I might," he said, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap. "I might be able to help you. I know those trails—difficult for one with no mountain experience, but safe enough."
"Oh?" Paks reached out and refilled her mug.
"Unless you prefer to travel alone. Few humans do."
Paks shrugged. "I have no one to travel with. I'd appreciate your advice on the trail." She was remembering Stammers warning about those who might seek to travel with her.
The elf moved restlessly. "If you are willing, I thought we might travel together—as iar as the borders of the Ladysforest, at least. I could tell you about the trails from there." He sat back, and looked at her from under dark brows. "It would be far safer for you, Paksenarrion, and a convenience to me. While the trails are not as dangerous as these caravan roads, all trails have their hazards, and it is as well to have someone who can draw steel at your back."
Paks nodded. "I see. It is well thought of. But—forgive me, sir—you seem to know more of me than I of you.
He drew himself up. "I'm an elf—surely you know what that is."
"Yes, but—"
His voice sharpened."I fear I have no relatives or friends nearby that you can question. You will have to trust my word, or go alone. I am an elf, a warrior and mage—as you have seen—and I am returning to my own kingdom of the Ladysforest."
"I'm sorry to have angered you, sir, but—"
"Have you been told bad tales of elves? Is that it?" Paks thought back to Bosk. "Yes—some." His voice eased. "Well, then, it's not your fault. You must know that elves are an elder race, older for than men. Some humans are jealous of our knowledge and our skills. They understand little of our ways, and we cannot explain to those who will not listen. But elves, Paksenarrion, were created by the Maker himself to be the enemy of all evil beings. It is elves that ores hate most, for they know their destiny is on the end of our blades: the dark powers of the earth come never near the elven kingdoms."
Paks said nothing, but wondered. She had heard that the elves were indeed far older than men, and that elves never died of age alone. But she had not heard-that elves were either good or evil, as ores and demons were clearly evil, and saints like Gird and Falk were clearly good.
In the next few days, she found out what she could of elves in general and Macenion in particular. It was not much. But as the higher slopes closed in on the caravan track, she saw how easy it would be to miss her trail. Traveling with someone who had been there before seemed much wiser.
Paks saw the last of the caravan winding away to the west, higher into Silver Pass, with great relief. She had not felt at home with the other caravan guards; she had not been able to give them her trust, as she had her old companions. But now she was free—free to go north toward home, to adventure as she would. She imagined herself, as she had so often, riding up the track from Three Firs to her home, with gifts for everyone and money to spend at a fair. She could almost hear her mother's gasp of delight, the squeals of her younger brothers and sisters.
She imagined her father struck silent, awed at her wealth and the sword she bore. She turned to grin at Macenion beside her, whose longsighted gaze lingered on the caravan's dust.
"Well, they're all gone by the smell. Let's get moving."
He turned his gray-green eyes away from the pass and glared at her. "Must you be in such hurry? I want to be sure no thief drops out to trail us."
Paks loosened her sword in its sheath. "Unlikely now. And with your magic arts, and this sword, we shouldn't have much to fear. I wanted to find a good camping spot before dark."
"Very well. Come along, then, and keep a good watch. Move as quietly as a human can."
Paks bit back an angry retort. It wouldn't do to quarrel with her only companion for the trip across the mountains; she had no other guide, and elves made dangerous enemies. She turned to the sturdy pack pony she'd bought from the Wagonmaster and checked the pack a last time, then stroked Star's neck, and started up the narrow trail that forked away from the caravan route. She hoped Macenion would mellow as they traveled. So far he bad been scornful, sarcastic, and critical. It seemed obvious that he knew a great deal about the mountains and the various trails across them, but he made his superior knowledge as painful as possible for anyone else. Now he walked ahead, leading his elven-bred horse whose narrow arched neck expressed disdain for the pack on its back.
But at the campfire that night, Macenion seemed to have walked out part of his bad temper, and was once again the charming elf she had first met. He lit the fire with one spell, and seasoned their plain boiled porridge with another. He set a spell to keep the horse and pony from wandering. Paks wanted to ask if he could not set one to guard the camp, so that they could both sleep through the night, but thought better of it, and offered to take the first watch instead.
Though it had been hot that afternoon, the night was cold, with the feeling of great spaces in movement that comes only on the flanks of mountains. Nothing threat- ened them that Paks could see or hear, but twice the hair on her arms and neck stood straight, and fear caught the breath in her throat. Macenion, when she woke him at the change of watch, simply laughed lightly. "Wild lands care not for humans, Paksenarrion—neither to hunt nor hide. That is what you feel, that indifference." She surprised herself by sleeping easily and at once.
For two days they climbed between the flanks of the mountain. Midway of the second, they were high enough to see once more die caravan route below and behind them, and the twist where it crossed the spine of the Copper Hills. Paks could barely discern the pale scar of the route itself, but Macenion declared that he could see another caravan moving on it, this time from west to east. Paks squinted across the leagues of sunlit air, wavering in light and wind, and grunted. She could not see any movement at all, and the brilliant light hurt her eyes. She turned to look up their trail. It crawled over a hump of grass-grown rock—what she would have called a mountain, if the higher slopes had not been there—and disappeared. In a few moments, Macenion too turned to the trail.
To her surprise, the other side of the hump was forested; all that afternoon they climbed through thick pine-woods smelling of resin and bark. Paks added dry branches to Star's pack. They camped at the upper end of that wood, looking out over its dark patchwork to the east, where even Paks could see the land fall steeply into the eastern ocean. Macenion gazed at it a long time.
"What do you see?" Paks finally asked, but he shook his head and did not answer. She went back to stirring their porridge. Later that night he began to talk of the elves and their ways—the language and history—but most of it meant little to Paks. She thought he seemed pleased that she knew so little.
"My name's elven," she said proudly, when Macenion seemed to be running down. "I know that much: Paksenarrion means tower of the mountains."
"And I suppose you think you were named that for your size, eh?" Macenion sneered. "Don't be foolish; it's not elven at all."
"It is, too!" Paks stiffened angrily. She had always been as proud of her name as its meaning.
"Nonsense! It's from old Aare, not from elves. Pakse-enerion, royal tower, or royal treasure, since they used towers for their treasuries."
"That's the same—" Paks had not clearly heard the difference in sounds.
"No. Look. The elven is—" Macenion began scratching hnes in die dust. "It has another sign, one that you don't use. Almost, but not quite, the same as your 'ks sound—and the first part means peak or high place. The elven word enarrion means mountain; the gnomes corrupted it to enarn, and the dwarves to enarsk, which is why these mountains are the dwarfenarsk—or in their tongue, the hakkenarsk. If your name were really elven, it would mean peak or high place in the mountains. But it doesn't. It's human, Aaren, and it means royal treasure."
Paks frowned. "But I was always told—"
"I don't care what you were told by some ignorant old crone, Paksenarrion, neither you nor your name is elven, and that's all." Macenion smirked at her, then pointedly lifted the kettle without touching it and poured himself another mug of sib.
Paks glared at him, furious again. "My grandmother was not an ignorant old crone!"
"Orphin, grant me patience!" Macenion's voice was almost as sharp as hers. 'Do you really think, Paks, that you or your grandmother—however worthy a matron she may have been—know as much about the elven language as an elf does? Be reasonable."
Paks subsided, still angry. Put that way she could find no answer, but she didn't have to like it.
Relations were still strained the next day when they came to the first fork of the trail. Macenion slowed to a halt. Paks was tempted to ask him sharply if he knew where he was going, but a quick look at the wilderness around her kept her quiet. Whether he knew or not, she certainly didn't. Macenion turned to look at her. "I think we'll go this way," he said, gesturing.
"Think?" Paks could not resist that much.
His face darkened. "I have my reasons, Paksenarrion. Either path will get us where we wish to go; this one might provide other benefits."
"Such as?"
"Oh—" He seemed unwilling to answer directly. "There are ruins on some of the trails around here. We might find treasure—"
"Or trouble," said Paks.
His eyebrows went up. "I thought you claimed great skill with that sword."
"Skill, yes. I don't go looking for trouble." But as she spoke, she felt a tingle of anticipation. Trouble she didn't want, but adventure was something else. Macenion must have seen this in her face, for he grinned.
"After these peaceful days, I daresay you wouldn't mind a little excitement. I don't expect any, to be sure, but unless you're hiding a fortune in that pack, you wouldn't mind a few gold coins or extra weapons any more than I would."
"Honestly—no, I wouldn't." Paks found herself smiling. Ruins in the wilderness, and stray treasure, were just the sort of things she'd dreamed of as a girl.
Macenion's chosen path led them back west, by winding ways, and finally through a narrow gap into a rising valley, steep-sided, where the trail led between many tall gray stones. These stood about like tall soldiers on guard.
"What are those?" asked Paksenarrion, as they began to near the first ranks of them. The stones gave her art odd feeling, as if they were alive.
"Wardstones," said Macenion. "Haven't you ever seen wardstones before?"