Rage of a Demon King. Raymond E. Feist
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Название: Rage of a Demon King
Автор: Raymond E. Feist
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Эзотерика
isbn: 9780007370207
isbn:
‘I was smitten the first time I saw her. She knew me as the Master’s son, Pug’s boy, and she knew I was infatuated with her. I followed her around, making a pest of myself. She put up with me with good grace, but after a while I think I wore her nerves thin.’
William gazed out the window that overlooked the courtyard and said, ‘I think her indifference to my plight was one of the big reasons I chose to leave Stardock and come to Krondor.’ He smiled in remembrance. ‘She came two years later.’
Erik raised an eyebrow in question.
‘Prince Arutha’s father had a magical adviser, a wonderful old character named Kulgan. Far from the most powerful magician around, he may have been among the most intelligent. He was like a grandfather to me in many ways. His death hit my father very hard. Anyway, Prince Arutha decided he wanted a magical adviser in his court, so he asked Pug to send his best to Krondor. Father surprised everyone by sending her instead of one of the masters; I thought at first he was sending her to check up on me.’ He smiled ruefully in memory.
William was almost laughing as he went on, ‘You can imagine the consternation among the nobles when she showed up and turned out not only to be Keshian, but to be distantly related to one of the most powerful noble lords among the desertmen of the Jal-Pur. It took Prince Arutha’s iron will to force the court into accepting her.’
William sighed. ‘Things got very difficult here the day she showed up, some things I can’t talk about, but suffice it to say by the time we were done she and I had learned we were very different people than we had been at Stardock. We also discovered that my feelings hadn’t changed, and I was astonished to discover that the two years apart had changed the way she looked at me. We became lovers.’
Erik said nothing for a moment as William became lost in a moment of remembering.
‘We were together for six years.’
‘What happened?’
‘She died.’
Erik said, ‘If you don’t want to talk about it –’
‘I don’t,’ interrupted William.
Erik looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, I’ll go, sir. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.’
William waved away the apology before it came. ‘You didn’t. Those wounds are with me every day and they are always open. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never wed.’
As he reached the door, Erik said, ‘If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what was her name?’
Without looking at Erik, still staring out the window, William said, ‘Jezharra.’
Erik closed the door behind him. As he walked along the corridor leading to the marshaling yard, he considered the conversation. No closer to knowing what he should do, he decided to put his mind to the matters before him and let his feelings for Kitty come as they might.
Tomas sat motionless.
King Redtree, Aron Earanorn in the elves’ language, spoke. ‘In the years since we abandoned the Northlands to return, we have attempted to understand our cousins.’ The leader of the glamredhel, the ‘mad’ elves, those left to fend for themselves in the Northlands beyond the Kingdom ages ago, fixed Queen Aglaranna with a steady stare. ‘We bow to you as ruler, here, lady’ – he made an all-encompassing gesture with his right hand – ‘in Elvandar. But we do not accept any suggestion that you rule us, absolutely.’
Tomas glanced at his wife. The ruler of the Elves of Elvandar turned her softest smile on the warrior who had ruled over his followers for almost as many years as she had reigned in the elven glades. ‘Earanorn, no one here is suggesting anything,’ she countered. ‘Those who chose to come to Elvandar, by the call of ancient blood or as guests, are free to leave at any time. Only those who chose to remain here of their own accord are subject to our rule.’
The former King tapped his chin. ‘That’s the rub, isn’t it?’ He looked at the assembled elves in the Queen’s Council: Tathar, her senior adviser; Tomas, the half-human Warleader and prince consort; Acaila, leader of the eldar who had remained on the world of Kelewan until the human magician Pug had found them; and others, including Pug and his current companion, Miranda. After a long silence, the old king asked, ‘Where would we go? Back to the Northlands and our less generous cousins?’
Tomas glanced at Pug, his boyhood companion, foster brother, and ally in the Riftwar, and his eyes revealed that he, too, knew the answer: there was nowhere else for these ‘wild’ elves to go.
Tomas turned his attention to Acaila, whose knowledge and power never failed to astonish Pug, and raised a finger so slightly the human magician barely noticed it. Acaila inclined his head but a fraction of an inch, yet the Queen returned the barely perceptible nod.
‘Why leave at all?’ asked the leader of the Eldar, those ancient elves who were closest to the Dragon Lords, and who kept their lore and knowledge. ‘You have found your lost kindred after centuries of isolation and no one seeks to return you to slavery, yet you seem ill at ease. May one ask why?’
Redtree let out a long sigh. ‘I’m an old man.’ At this, Tathar, Acaila, and some others laughed, without malice but with genuine amusement. ‘Very well, so I’m merely three hundred seventy years of age, while some here are twice that, but the truth is the Edder Forest of the Northlands is a harsh place, rife with enemies and scant of food. You have little sense of that here, in the midst of Elvandar’s bounty.’ He hugged himself slightly as if memory of the Edder was chilling. ‘We numbered no spell weavers and the healing magic of Elvandar did not exist. Here a mild wound heals with rest and food; there festering can take a warrior as surely as an enemy’s arrow.’ He held out his hand in a balled fist, anger coloring his words. ‘I have buried my wife and my sons. By my people’s experience, I am a very old man.’
To Pug, Miranda whispered, ‘And a long-winded one, too.’ She stifled a yawn. Pug tried not to smile on the heels of the old king’s emotional words, but he, like Miranda and the others, had heard the tale of Redtree’s battles and losses many times in the months they had lived with the elves.
Calin, Aglaranna’s older son and heir to her throne, spoke. ‘I think over the last thirty years we have demonstrated our goodwill, King Redtree. We mourn your losses’ – others of the council nodded agreement – ‘yet here rests your people’s best chance to thrive, returned to the heart of our race.
‘During the Riftwar and the Great Uprising, we lost many who now rest in the Blessed Isles, yet we have gained, by your having found your way here. In the end, all of elvenkind are profited.’
Redtree nodded. ‘I have considered my people’s choices.’ He seemed to let go of something, a hint of pride. ‘I have no sons.’ Looking at Calin, he said, ‘I need an heir.’
A young warrior of the glamredhel stepped to his King’s side, handing over a bundle wrapped in leather and tied in thongs. ‘This is the mark of my rank,’ said Redtree, untying the bundle. As much as elves could display surprise, the assembled council was surprised. Inside the skins was a belt of marvelous beauty: silken threads that Pug judged were something more СКАЧАТЬ