"Patricia C. Wrede - Lyra Universe 3 - The Harp Of Imach Thys" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wrede Patricia C)

"After two years at the Ciaron Guildhall, I ought to," Flindaran muttered.
"Don't worry, you'll only have to do a few songs. Just enough so people don't wonder."
"They'll wonder if they hear me sing."
"You're exaggerating; your voice isn't that bad. But you don't have to fake it unless you want to.
We could ' just tell them the truth."
Flindaran eyed him with disfavor. "You take all the fun out of things," he complained. "Besides,
you'd still make me sing."
"Probably," Emereck said cheerfully. "So it really doesn't matter, does it?"
"All right, all right!" Flindaran heaved an exaggerated sigh. "The things I do for my friends."
"Oh? Whose idea was this? For that matter, who suggested leaving Goldar's caravan in the first
place?"
"Don't remind me! I'll hear enough about it from my father when we get to Minathlan."
"Then why were you so pigheaded about taking this shortcut?"


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"Because I'd rather be uncomfortable than bored. And' the only thing more boring than spending
four more'
THE HARP OF IMACH THYSSEL 3
weeks with a caravan of Traders is being a Duke's son and spending four more weeks with a caravan
of Traders. I'm sick of their bowing and my-Iording?. Besides, the girls were all either too old
or too young."
"I thought that might have something to do with it."
Flindaran grinned. "So I'm going to be a minstrel for a while. Come on, let's see what this inn
has to offer."
The two men nudged their horses to a faster walk. A little farther on, the main road slanted away
from the village to skirt the end of the lake. A smaller road, little more than a path, branched
off toward the town, and in less than an hour they had reached their destination. The town was
just as small as it had looked from a distance, but the people seemed used to travelers; only the
children paid any attention to the two riders as they passed through the town and stopped before
the door of the inn.
As they dismounted beneath the faded sign, a black-haired woman came out to meet them. She was
small and neat and quiet-looking; a far call from the usual innkeeper, Emereck thought. Her eyes
swept over the horses and their riders in cool evaluation, then she nodded. "Good day to you,
sirs," she said in Kyrian. "And what do you wish from this house?"
"Whatever you would willingly spare a pair of minstrels in return for song and story," Emereck
said in the same language.
"Song and story are very well, but there are few guests to be entertained tonight and the folk of
this town have a choosy taste in such things."
"Including yourself?" Flindaran asked.
Emereck frowned, but the woman did not appear to be offended. "Perhaps, though I think my likes
are somewhat different from those of the people of Tinbri," she replied calmly.
"You don't consider yourself one of them?"
"There are those who've lived half their lives in Tinbri and don't consider themselves townsfolk.
But no, this is not my home. I'm keeping this inn for a time as a ... favor to a friend."
4 Patricia C. Wrede
"If songs are unwelcome, is there some other way we might earn your hospitality?" Emereck said. He
heard Flindaran shift uncomfortably, and shot him a warning look. Two wandering minstrels would