Faerie Tale. Raymond E. Feist

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       • Chapter Three •

      Gabbie rode past the shack. Above the door a neatly painted sign proclaimed Doyle’s Appliance Repair. She urged My Dandelion up over the dirt kerb and past the shack. She knew that a few feet into the woods she would be on the corner of Aggie Grant’s property. She had never entered this way, but had ridden nearby with Jack a few times. She roughly knew where the path that ran to her own farm was, and from there how to get to the Laudermilch farm. Besides, she didn’t want to chance meeting Jack by riding through town, and hacking My Dandelion back to Laudermilch’s place was giving her time to think.

      Gabbie’s anger was fading, being rapidly replaced by a sense of loss. She’d never been this jealous in her life and the strange hollow pain in her stomach was something alien to her. Her only other serious relationship had ended badly, but even then she had felt outrage at being lied to rather than this terrible emptiness. Her cheeks were burning and her eyes seemed to tear without reason. She felt miserable. How could he? she asked herself. Easy, she answered. The little redheaded bitch was a knockout, big breasts without being chunky and legs that took a week to get to the ground. Tears gathered in Gabbie’s eyes and she descended into a thoroughly black despair.

      Abruptly Gabbie became aware of an odd plopping sound and knew that one of My Dandelion’s shoes had worked loose. Before she could rein in, the horse faltered and her walking rhythm shifted. She was limping.

      Gabbie was instantly off the horse, inspecting the left front hoof. A bent horseshoe dangled by one nail. Gabbie swore as she pulled it free from the hoof. Holding it up, she saw that the clench on two of the nails had pulled through the hoof, working the shoe loose. My Dandelion had then stepped on the back of the flopping shoe with her left rear hoof, ripping it away. Ignoring the smear of mud My Dandelion’s leg had left on the brocade of the dress, Gabbie inspected the hoof. There was one big crack where one of the nails had twisted away, and several small holes where the nails had pulled through. Gabbie swore again and considered the likelihood of a bruise. If the crack didn’t go too deep, it could be cross-filed or held together with a metal staple. Otherwise it would continue to split up to the coronet. ‘Ah, damn!’ shouted Gabbie in frustration. ‘This is one shitty day, world. Thank you very much.’

      She held the shoe in her right hand and grabbed the reins with her left. She’d have to lead the animal, for to ride her on this rocky path was to risk further damage to the hoof. She looked back and was relieved to see the horse was not favouring her left front leg. At least there was no sign of damage at this point. Still, the path was hard, rocky dirt, and she’d have to be careful where she led the horse. She considered returning to the park, but taking the horse over concrete would be as bad as or worse than over the dirt.

      There was a stony rise, which normally she would have ridden over, to reach the path to Aggie’s. Now she had to find a way around it. ‘Which way?’ she said to herself.

      Picking the left, she began circling. It shouldn’t be difficult to find the path, she judged. It just wasn’t that far around the rise.

      A short time later, Gabbie began to feel the first hints of concern. The rise had been circled, she was certain, but nothing looked familiar. And night was falling unexpectedly fast.

      She attempted to judge where the last early evening light was coming from. It was lighter to her right, which she figured had to be the last rays of the sunset and therefore west. She needed to continue south, so she was heading in pretty much the right direction. But there was a gully ahead she’d never seen before.

      She led the horse slowly down into the gully and discovered a small rill of water gurgling over the stones. Gabbie halted while she thought. If she followed the gully, she’d be certain to find her way to the Troll Bridge, and from there home was a snap.

      She led My Dandelion up the other side of the gully and began to follow it. Soon the shadows of the woods were turning opaque, and Gabbie felt her worry deepening with them. It was taking too long to find the bridge, she was certain.

      Then she heard the sound. It struck at her, startling her. It was a clear, familiar ringing sound, one she couldn’t put a name to. It came from ahead.

      She halted. The sound repeated several times in succession, and she knew what she was hearing was impossible. It must be something else, she concluded.

      She led the horse forward and followed the gully around a leisurely curve, past a sheltering stand of trees, so tightly placed they formed a screen. Beyond the trees a large wagon stood, an old dapple-grey horse tied to one of the large front wheels. In the back a portable forge burned brightly while a tall man inspected a piece of metalwork he held before him with large tongs. He judged it near ready and plunged it back into the fire. He turned it in the coals and stepped upon something. The forge burst into bright light, and Gabbie saw that he had a foot-powered bellows connected to the bottom of the forge. He pumped the bellows until the coals burned white-hot. After a moment he pulled out his work, placed it upon an anvil resting behind the wagon, and began hitting it with his hammer.

      Gabbie couldn’t believe her eyes. A farrier stood working in the middle of the clearing. She watched in fascination as he quickly turned the metal, a heavy pin of some sort. Gabbie regarded the horseshoe she held and wondered if she was going crazy.

      She approached the blacksmith and he glanced at her. She faltered when she saw his eyes. They were so blue they were almost electric. The man was brawny but young-looking and, under the soot and smoke smudge, strikingly handsome. He stood easily six feet two or more and his arms were heavily muscled. His beard was black, as was the hair that hung below a broad-brimmed hat. He wore an old-style linen shirt, with the long sleeves rolled up over his biceps. Black tufts of hair peeked over the top of his shirt and covered the backs of his arms. His trousers were held up by black braces. Suddenly Gabbie understood. There were Amish living over in Cattaraugus County. She’d seen a couple of them at one of the stores in town. They didn’t believe in cars or something, but she knew they still practised arts and crafts like their forebears. And this portable smithy was something СКАЧАТЬ