The Riftwar Saga Series Books 2 and 3: Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon. Raymond E. Feist

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      A feminine clearing of the throat made Carline turn. Lady Glynis, the Princess’s companion for the last four years, smiled slightly and indicated with a nod of her head the newcomer who appeared at the trapdoor leading down into the tower.

      Roland emerged from the doorway in the floor. The last two years had added to his growth, and now he stood as tall as Arutha. He was still thin, but his boyish features were resolving into those of a man.

      He bowed and said, ‘Highness.’

      Carline acknowledged the greeting with a nod and gestured that Lady Glynis should leave them alone. Glynis fled down the stairway into the tower.

      Softly Carline said, ‘You did not ride to the beach with Lyam?’

      ‘No, Highness.’

      ‘You spoke with him before the left?’

      Roland turned his gaze to the far horizon. ‘Yes, Highness, though I must confess to a foul humor at his going.’

      Carline nodded understanding. ‘Because you have to stay.’

      He spoke with bitterness, ‘Yes, Highness.’

      Carline said gently, ‘Why so formal, Roland?’

      Roland looked at the Princess, seventeen years old just this last Midsummer’s Day. No longer a petulant little girl given to outbursts of temper, she was changing into a beautiful young woman of thoughtful introspection. Few in the castle were unaware of the many nights’ sobbing that issued from Carline’s suite after news of Pug had reached the castle. After nearly a week of solitude, Carline had emerged a changed person, more subdued, less willful. There was little outward to show how Carline felt, but Roland knew she carried a scar.

      After a moment of silence, Roland said, ‘Highness, when …’ He halted, then said, ‘It is of no consequence.’

      Carline placed her hand upon his arm. ‘Roland, whatever else, we have always been friends.’

      ‘It pleases me to think that is true.’

      ‘Then tell me, why has a wall grown between us?’

      Roland sighed, and there was none of his usual roguish humor in his answer. ‘If there has, Carline, it is not of my fashioning.’

      A spark of the girl’s former self sprang into being, and with a temperamental edge to her voice she said, ‘Am I, then, the architect of this estrangement?’

      Anger erupted in Roland’s voice. ‘Aye, Carline!’ He ran his hand through his wavy brown hair and said, ‘Do you remember the day I fought with Pug? The very day before he left.’

      At the mention of Pug’s name she tensed. Stiffly she said, ‘Yes, I remember.’

      ‘Well, it was a silly thing, a boys’ thing, that fight. I told him should he ever cause you any hurt, I’d thrash him. Did he tell you that?’

      Moisture came unbidden to her eyes. Softly she said, ‘No, he never mentioned it.’

      Roland looked at the beautiful face he had loved for years and said, ‘At least then I knew my rival.’ He lowered his voice, the anger slipping away. ‘I like to think then, near the end, he and I were fast friends. Still, I vowed I’d never stop my attempts to change your heart.’

      Shivering, Carline drew her cloak about her, though the day was not that cool. She felt conflicting emotions within, confusing emotions. Trembling, she said, ‘Why did you stop, Roland?’

      Sudden harsh anger burst within Roland. For the first time he lost his mask of wit and manners before the Princess. ‘Because I can’t contend with a memory, Carline.’ Her eyes opened wide, and tears welled up and ran down her cheeks. ‘Another man of flesh I can face, but this shade from the past I cannot grapple with.’ Hot anger exploded into words. ‘He’s dead, Carline. I wish it were not so; he was my friend and I miss him, but I’ve let him go. Pug is dead. Until you grant that this is true, you are living with a false hope.’

      She put her hand to her mouth, palm outward, her eyes regarding him in wordless denial. Abruptly she turned and fled down the stairs.

      Alone, Roland leaned his elbows on the cold stones of the tower wall. Holding his head in his hands, he said, ‘Oh, what a fool I have become!’

      ‘Patrol!’ shouted the guard from the wall of the castle. Arutha and Roland turned from where they watched soldiers giving instructions to levies from the outlying villages.

      They reached the gate, and the patrol came riding slowly in, a dozen dirty, weary riders, with Martin Longbow and two other trackers walking beside. Arutha greeted the Huntmaster and then said, ‘What have you there?’

      He indicated the three men in short grey robes who stood between the line of horsemen. ‘Prisoners, Highness,’ answered the hunter, leaning on his bow.

      Arutha dismissed the tired riders as other guards came to take position around the prisoners. Arutha walked to where they waited, and when he came within touching distance, all three fell to their knees, putting their foreheads to the dirt.

      Arutha raised his eyebrows in surprise at the display. ‘I have never seen such as these.’

      Longbow nodded in agreement. ‘They wear no armor, and they didn’t give fight or run when we found them in the woods. They did as you see now, only then they babbled like fishwives.’

      Arutha said to Roland, ‘Fetch Father Tully. He may be able to make something of their tongue.’ Roland hurried off to find the priest. Longbow dismissed his two trackers, who headed for the kitchen. A guard was dispatched to find Swordmaster Fannon and inform him of the captives.

      A few minutes later Roland returned with Father Tully. The old priest of Astalon was dressed in a deep blue, nearly black, robe, and upon catching a glimpse of him, the three prisoners set up a babble of whispers. When Tully glanced in their direction, they fell completely silent. Arutha looked at Longbow in surprise.

      Tully said, ‘What have we here?’

      ‘Prisoners,’ said Arutha. ‘As you are the only man here to have had some dealings with their language, I thought you might get something out of them.’

      ‘I remember little from my mind contact with the Tsurani Xomich, but I can try.’ The priest spoke a few halting words, which resulted in a confusion as all three prisoners spoke at once. The centermost snapped at his companions, who fell silent. He was short, as were the others, but powerfully built. His hair was brown, and his skin swarthy, but his eyes were a startling green. He spoke slowly to Tully, his manner somehow less deferential than his companions’.

      Tully shook his head. ‘I can’t be certain, but I think he wishes to know if I am a Great One of this world.’

      ‘Great One?’ asked Arutha.

      ‘The dying soldier was in awe of the man aboard ship he called ‘Great One.’ I think it was a title rather than a specific individual. Perhaps Kulgan was correct in his suspicion these people hold their magicians or priests in awe.’

      ‘Who are these men?’ asked the Prince.

      Tully СКАЧАТЬ