"Springer, Nancy - Book Of The Isle 05 - Golden Swan v1 0.rtf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Springer Nancy)

I remember particularly one time when Dair was off hunting for rabbits amongst the gorse bushes somewhere. It was dusk, the day between dog and wolf, as the countryfolk would say, a threatening time of day, and two strangers with swords suddenly appeared at our campfire. They looked at us and laughed.
"A cripple and a woman!" one said. "And not much good to be had from either of them, it seems."
"We'll take it out on the female," said the other, leering. "Though at her age I doubt if she is still tight enough to afford much pleasure."
Frain got up wearily. Neither of us was very much afraid. We knew that I would undergo a change when I became angry enough, probably into wolf form, and then those men would learn the meaning of bloodshed. But I suppose Frain's pride was stung—he had pride, though he usually kept it private—so he stood up to confront the pair of brigands, and they laughed anew, waiting with delight to see what he would do.
"Scum," he remarked offhandedly, and then he moved with eagle speed. He jerked his body so that his left arm, the useless one, swung out and hit the nearer robber across the face with a fishy slap. Startled and angered, the man put up his sword, and I squeaked; it cut into Frain's arm. But on the instant Frain had ahold of the sword hilt with his good hand. He wrenched it away from his enemy. One quick backhand blow to an unprotected throat and the man was dead. Just as quickly Frain turned and parried the blow the other brigand was aiming at his neck.
This fellow was ready for a fight. He had his shield up, and Frain had none, and blood dripped down from his dangling, wounded arm. I began to think of shouting for
Dair—he was already in his wolf "form, of course. But I did not. I merely sat with my mouth open. Frain handled his sword with astounding force and skill. He was breathtaking, nothing short of magnificent—I could have watched him all night. Blade clanged against blade ever faster, but Frain remained untouched. All the while he pricked his enemy with his swordtip, nudged and caressed him with it in a grim game of power. He could have killed him any of half a dozen -times, and the man knew it. Pallid and sweating, the brigand stumbled back, turned and fled. Frain stood and let him go.
I came out of my stupor, scrambled up and hurried over to him. "Mighty Mothers, Frain!" I exclaimed. At the same time Dair came running up, four-legged.
I saw a very scared sort of robber run by, he said. What has happened—Name of the Lady, Frain!
"Name of the Lady, Frain!" I translated, tugging at him. I got him to sit down, and I ripped bandaging for the slash on his arm. Dair sat on his tail, whimpering.
"Save your sympathy, both of you," Frain grumped. "There is no feeling in that arm, no pain, as I knew full well before I. presented it to be sliced."
"Then why are you trembling?" I retorted. He was very pale and shaking violently. I wrapped the wound tightly to stop the bleeding.
Why didn't you call me! Dair appealed. Both of us ignored him.
"Why didn't you tell me you were such a swordsman!" I snapped at Frain in mock anger, trying to make him smile.
"No. Please." He turned away his face, trembling harder than ever, and curled himself into a taut ball. I put a blanket around him, puzzled and worried.
It is not pain, Dair told me. He is terrified.
"But why?"
Because—he has used the sword, the weapon of wrath.
Dair went over and sat by Frain, pressed against him. _.In a moment Frain gave a dry sob and took the wolf into his one-armed embrace, hiding his face in the thick fur of Dair's neck.
"We have to get away from here," I said uneasily. "That robber who lived might come back with more."
Frain got up and went about the work of breaking camp, his face tight, twitching. We set off at once, in the dark and without sleep—I am sure Frain would not have been able to sleep in any event. We left the dead outlaw slowly stiffening on the ground behind us, his sword at his side. Dair led us through the night in wolf form, very warily, while Frain and I walked quite silently at his heels. But no harm befell us that night.
Just before dawn Frain spoke at last.
"I had thought the sword skill had left me," he said very softly. His tone was not one of rejoicing.
"You thought you had gotten rid of it, you mean?" I teased gently. I could not see his face, but I doubt if he smiled.
"No. A few years ago, some time after I left Vale, I got in a—well, a contest, and I was beaten so badly I had to be nursed for a month. I really wanted to be killed, but by bad fortune the man was merciful." His tone was hard.
"You were splendid," I said. "What troubles you so?"
"Bad dreams—and faces in the night. All the trees have eyes tonight." He shivered.
"Let us sit and watch the dawn," I said.
We rested. I could tell that the light comforted Frain. I glanced at him from- time to time, thinking.
"Have you heard the tale of Eterlane, the hero?" I asked him, finally.
"The hero's name is Aftalun."
"Aftalun, Feridun, Eterlane, it is all the same," I said impatiently. "The hero is the one who confronts the dragon."
"My brother Tirell talked with dragons," Frain said.
I did not want to hear any more about Tirell. I gave him a sharp look.
"With Aftalun it was a swimming dragon," he added with some small interest. "He had to dive.» . ."
"Deep in the water, the flood, until his fire was victorious or quenched," I finished for him. Aftalun was the sun—I felt sure of it from the way Frain watched the rays break over the horizon.
"What of Eterlane?" he asked after a while.
"For Eterlane the dragon was in a dungeon."
• I took my time and told the tale. There was once a terribly poor kingdom, I said, hagridden by famine and plague and all kinds of misfortune, and this was all blamed on the dragon. It had been with the kingdom for ages, and no one could slay it; the dragon was invincible. The only thing that could be done with it was to keep it out of sight, hidden deep in its hole, shut into its dark lair. So there it lurked, with the whole weight of the castle over it. But it was prophesied that one day a prince would come of age who would be able to deal with it.
The prince had lived with the roar of the unseen dragon from his earliest days. And when the time came for his rite of passage, in which he would receive his true-name, a hag appeared at the castle gates, keening. The king himself went out to see her.
"What are you grieving for?" he asked her. He suspected her of being more than she appeared to be, and he was right. She stopped in midwail and glared at him.
"For human folly," she snapped. "Where is that boy?"
The king called his son. "What do you wish with him?" he asked when the prince stood before them.
"I am to marry him," the old crone said, "when I have taught him how to face the dragon."
King and prince stood aghast at the idea and refused the bargain, and the old woman went away wailing as before. But no true-name came to the prince, and no true love either, and no good to the stricken kingdom," for the year after. And then the hag came again, and was refused again, and so it went for the next year, and the next, until at last the prince saw that the dragon had to be faced, though his father still trembled at the idea.
"I accept your offer," he said when the hag came again.
"Empty the castle," she told him.
It was done, and he turned to descend to the lair.
"What weapon should I take with me?" he asked the goddess, for it was she.
"Nothing except thoughts. I will give you three. The white dove casts a dark shadow. In the heart of the rose is a worm. Night fades into day and day into night; embrace them."