"Sherwood Smith - Wren 3 - Wren's War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Sherwood)

PZ7.S65933Ww 1995
[Fic]—dc20 94-36111
Endpaper map by Anita Karl and Jim Kemp
The text type was set in Sabon.
Designed by Camilla Filancia
Printed in the United States of America
First edition


To my sister Lorie,
who, when we were small and things were scary,
liked me to sing
“Where Have All the Flowers Gone”


Chapter One
^»
Princess Teressa looked past her horse’s ears to the city gate. Cold rain stung her
face, but she ignored it, hoping to see a short figure with thick braids sitting on a
battlement and swinging her feet. All she saw were the customary sentries, alert at
their posts despite the weather.
Wren must still be visiting her aunt up north in Allat Los.
Teressa tried not to feel disappointed. She’d known her best friend’s visit was to
last the month that the Cantirmoor School of Magic was closed down, but still she’d
hoped that some kind of miracle would bring Wren back. During the last half a year,
ever since Teressa had begun going out on diplomatic missions, she’d always
returned to find Wren sitting atop the gate, waiting for her.
Not that I have anything good to tell you this time, Teressa thought wearily. She
tried to straighten her aching back as she and her escort cantered their tired horses
up the cobbled streets. She pushed her anonymous black cloak aside so that her
gown was visible. Though she was muddy to the waist and her long braided hair
dripped rain like a rat’s tail, she was still the Princess, and she knew that eyes behind
shutters and casements watched her.
It hurt to see how silent the streets were. The rare pedestrians hurried, glancing
uneasily over their shoulders, as the gloom deepened toward night. A year ago —
even last season — folk would have been coming out despite the weather, to wave
and cheer as she and her detachment of Scarlet Guard dashed by.
Not now. There had been too much trouble in her father’s kingdom. So we try to
reassure people with our purposeful faces, so that they’ll know Father Is Doing
Something About It, Teressa thought with bleak humor. I just wish we really could
do something.
They clattered into the main courtyard, and stablehands ran out, torches hissing
and streaming.
Two approached Teressa, a tall blond boy she recognized and a girl she didn’t.
The girl carried a golden cup in both hands.
“Welcome home, Your Highness,” the boy said, bowing.
“Thanks… Alif, isn’t it?” Teressa dismounted carefully. Pins and needles stabbed
her legs.
She leaned against the horse. The girl stepped close, holding out her cup.
“Something warm to drink?”