"Patricia C. Wrede - Lyra 1 - Shadow Magic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wrede Patricia C)

Shadow Magic
Lyra - 03
Patricia C. Wrede
 CHAPTER ONE
The caravan wound slowly through the woods along the riverbank and broke at last into the
fields surrounding the city. Except for a few wooden shelters near the gates, the city itself was
invisible behind massive walls. Not even the roof of a tower showed above the smooth grey stone.
Though they were now within sight of their goal, the dust-covered guards continued to ride
restlessly up and down the long chain of wagons, watching field and forest narrowly for any sign of
unusual activity. Travel here, at the western border of Alkyra, was relatively safe, but the Traders
generally preferred not to take chances.
When the last of the wagons had entered the city, the guards relaxed at last. Their far-flung
riding pattern contracted into small eddies of motion between the lumbering wagons. The
iron-rimmed wagon-wheels were noisy, and conversation was minimal. The horses seemed to find
the stone pavement, rough as it was, an improvement over the deeply rutted dirt road outside the
city, and it was not long before the caravan had reached the wide courtyard of the inn.
The hypnotic rumble of the wagons gave way to a cheerful bustle of securing goods and
stabling horses. Everyone took part, from the most exalted of the Master Traders to the lowliest
apprentices. As each finished his appointed task, he went in search of friends or pleasure, depending
on his inclination, and soon the courtyard began to empty.
Among those remaining was a tall, black-haired man in the utilitarian leather of a caravan guard,
his skin tanned by the sun and wind of the trails to a deep bronze under its coating of grime. The
uniform suited him well, and he carried himself with an easy confidence that proclaimed him a veteran
despite his relative youth. He was checking the ropes securing one of the wagons when another man
hailed him. “Maurin!”
The dark-haired man at the wagon rope looked up. “Greetings, Har. I thought you would be
away home by now.”
Har made a rude noise and looked at his friend with disfavor. The two were of a height, but
Har’s slight build, accentuated by the leather uniform, made him appear smaller and younger than he
was. An unruly shock of sandy brown hair added to the effect, and made the straight black brows
and slightly tilted grey-green eyes more startling.
“I’ve been hunting all over for you,” Har said when Maurin made no response. “I invited you to
visit when we got to Brenn; did you think I would forget? Haven’t you finished with that yet?”
“I’m just checking the knots,” Maurin replied. “Last stop we nearly lost three white fox pelts
when the wind blew the canvas off, remember?”
Har grinned unrepentantly. “This is Brenn, remember?” he mimicked. “That can’t happen in
town, and anyway the light stuff has all been unpacked. So won’t you come on?”
“A journeyman can’t leave the caravan without the permission of one of the Master Traders.
You know that,” Maurin answered.
“So let’s get it! They won’t deny it; there’s nothing more to do here.” As Maurin still hesitated,
Har frowned. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want to come. I tell you, Maurin, you work too hard.
Take the whole week and stay with us and relax for a change. Or isn’t the Noble House of Brenn up
to your standards?”
“I don’t want Master Goldar to think I’m trying to curry favor,” Maurin admitted. “And what
will your family think? It’s all right for nobles and journeymen to brush cloaks on a caravan trip, but
even the Master Traders don’t visit lords in town unless they’re invited.”
“Well, I invited you, didn’t I?” Har said. “You don’t have to worry about my family; Mother
won’t mind, and if she doesn’t, no one else will, either.”
 “There’s still Master Goldar.”
“Fear not, my friend,” Har said, striking a theatrical pose. “We shall yet win for you the