"Russell, Sean - Swan War 1 - One Kingdom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Sean)

Of course, his grandfather had never traveled more than a day's walk from the Vale. To the south Tam could see the dark river twist and fall and then disappear behind the ragged edge of a wooded hill-the River Wynnd, gathering speed for its long journey to the sea. Tam closed his eyes and thought of the map he'd traced on his grandfather's table. Beyond the old tower lay the wildlands-league after league of deeply forested hills- which eventually gave way to rolling meadows, then fields in their frames of hedgerows and drystone walls. Here one would find the villages of the lowlanders, houses of weathered stone washed up along the riverbank. Tam opened his eyes and gazed into the distant south where small clouds blossomed on the horizon. No point getting ahead of himself. They would not go so far. Not halfway through the wildlands was a small, isolated village- Inniseth-and between there and here lay a fortnight of speeding, twisting river. Tam let his eye follow the river back; a brief, effortless journey. Immediately beneath him the delicate curve of the old bridge arced like an arrow's flight across the chasm, its stone lighter in color and harder than the rock of the cliffs- carried here from quarries far away.” The man who spends his time gazing at far horizons and not helping with the preparation of his meal shall soon hunger after more than distant lands." This was Tarn's cousin, Fynnol, calling up from below, another of his spontaneous pieces of "ancient" lore and wisdom.” I thought it was me who shot the grouse?" Tam called down.” Giving you a chance to show off your skill yet again. And when did we begin to count grouse hunting as work? It's play, and therefore doesn't go on the ledger." Tam could just make out his cousin staring up through the spray of new leaves, his face creased with humor, as it usually was. Fynnol of the quick wit and quicker laugh. Tam didn't think he could win this small duel of words. Few could best Fynnol there.” I shall be down immediately, then."

Tam took one more look around the hills that were coming back to life after winter, and then climbed down from his perch. The three young men had made their camp here for five days in what they thought might once have been a dining hall, though the walls were now covered with lichen and wild ivy, and the roof was the vault of the ever-changing sky. Fynnol hunched over a fire burned down to coals, and with great concentration, turned a pair of spitted grouse. Ten feet away, Baore sat against the stone wall, carefully polishing a bronze dagger hilt unearthed that morning.

"Do you realize, Cousins," Fynnol said, "that we have escaped the Vale? We are free of it!" He laughed.” No more Wella Messt knowing every little thing we do-and sharing it with everyone beneath the living sun. No more cows to milk, hogs to slop, corn to plant. My only regret is that we plan to return so soon."

"We shall likely not be back before midsummer's day," Tam said, "especially if we can't find what we want in Inniseth."

"I want nothing more than to get away! Far, far away," Fynnol said, and then glanced over at his cousin Baore, who shifted uncomfortably. Tam crouched down by the fire, but Fynnol cocked his head toward the food bags.” Tubers await your attentions."

Tam nodded, but his focus was on their companion. Baore was bent over, looking closely at the dagger handle in the fading light. He was a man whose hands could not be still. Even when they sat around the fire telling stories in the evening, Baore would be honing fishhooks or sewing a tear in a shirt. He was never without some small job of work in hand.

Quiet then, as each bent to his task. There was a bit of awkwardness between the three this evening, and Tam was

not quite sure what the cause might be. Baore was silent- more so than usual-and Fynnol, ever aware of his cousin's moods, was more talkative and animated. Tam wondered if Baore might be having second thoughts about their journey down the river. After three years of talking endlessly about their plans, how could Baore say that the Vale looked fairer to him than any adventure? Certainly he didn't dare say it to Fynnol, whose judgments of their place of birth had become more and more harsh as their day of departure approached. It was ironic, Tam thought, for of the three of them Baore looked the most like an adventurer: large jawed and crooked nosed, with an impressive breadth of shoulder and a height that few men equaled. Appearance belied the truth, though, for Baore was gentle by nature and a bit slow and unsure when it came to speaking his mind. Just waiting for a good woman to make up his mind for him, Fynnol always said, and Tam feared that judgment was not far wrong. Fynnol called Baore "the draft horse," and it was more true than flattering-strong, easy of nature, loyal, and solid on the earth. If the gate is left open, our draft horse would not think to go out, Fynnol once said, and Baore appeared to be proving him right. Perhaps he would need to be led-or driven. Tam looked over at the big Valeman. With his blond hair (which Fynnol described as willful) and downy youth's beard, Baore brought to mind nothing so much as a hay mow battered by a windstorm. Conversation over dinner was a bit forced, Fynnol talking excitedly about the journey and taking wicked pleasure in mocking the people they were leaving behind. If Baore was their draft horse, then Tam thought Fynnol was the crow of the group-cunning and wary, but swift and filled with hidden purpose. And like the crow, Fynnol was little concerned with his effect on others. Tam looked from one to the other, marveling that these two were cousins. One clever and prone to scheming, the other solid and steady. And yet here they were, about to set out on this adventure together-Fynnol's adventure, for though Fynnol was not blessed with the personality of a leader, Tam knew it had been Fynnol's zeal that I had pressed them forward.

"I have decided," Fynnol said suddenly, "that I would like a gray mare that will be the envy of all the Vale and shall give j me foals that men will clamor to buy."

"I thought you were set on a bay stallion with a star on his forehead?" Tam teased.

"That was before I thought it out straight, Tamlyn." Fynnol was eating a leg of grouse with greasy fingers, and waved the gnawed bone to make his point.” Gray is the color of early I morning, so shall bring me good luck, for it is about beginnings; and a mare will give me foals of which I shall take my pick, thereby being sure to have another horse just as good. | Or maybe better. A gray mare. That's what I shall have."

"Well, you can't name a gray mare 'Evening Star' if gray is ; the color of morning," Baore said, forcing himself to join the banter, trying to shake off his mood, for he was not grave by nature.

"Baore speaks the truth. And why is gray not the color of evening as well?"

"Because the color of evening is purple, Tamlyn, as everyone who has ever read a book well knows. And as to the name, I have another just as good. 'Greystone,' after my grandmother's family. Solid as the earth, but light on the tongue. Greystone."

"You always have things worked out so perfectly," Tam said.” And then, when you change your mind, you soon have them worked out just as perfectly again."

"Oh, more perfectly, Cousin. More perfectly."

To their left someone cleared his throat, and everyone turned to find a man standing just at the edge of the firelight. For an instant no one moved they were so surprised.

"As you have everything worked out to such perfection," the man said in a warm voice, "perhaps you will not mind

sharing some of it with a stranger? The light of your fire would be welcome."

All three Valemen were on their feet, Baore with a heavy staff in his hands. The man took one look at this giant who had risen before him, and stepped quickly into the light, extending both his hands palm outward.

"You've no reason to fear me," he said, a smile appearing from behind a neatly trimmed beard.” I'm a peaceful traveler, and shall gladly give my sword and bow into your keeping to prove it." He unbuckled a scabbard and held it out

toward Baore.

"Keep your sword," Tam said after a second.” We make travelers welcome in this corner of the world."

Despite Tarn's words the man stood his sword against the stone wall before approaching the fire. Tam thought him neatly turned out for a traveler. Not a hunter or trapper, he was quite sure. Though the stranger dressed for the wood and looked comfortable in his role, he had a hint of the city about him- or so Tam imagined, for he had never been to a city himself.