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.The lantern fell from his grasp and broke on the cobblestones, sending up a brief flare of flame over the pooled oil.Glass crunched underneath the wihht’s boot and the flame was extinguished.“No, no!” sobbed the Juggler.He shrank away and covered his face with his hands.“I believe you,” said Nio.“You do?” faltered the fat man, peeping at him from between his fingers.“Yes.By the way, it’s nothing personal, but this will probably hurt a great deal.”Nio turned and stalked away down the dark street.The boy was all that mattered now.Only the boy.But he would make the Guild and its client pay dearly for what they had done.First the boy, then he would see to everything else.Everything! He ground his teeth together in fury.He had been so close.The boy had been within his hands.He could have snapped his filthy little neck.The wihht would find him.It would find him, sniffing its way through the city until it caught the scent.Behind Nio, a scream choked into a sort of bubbling noise, and then a sigh.The clouds in the sky had frayed away sometime in the last hour, and the moon stared down, pale and white and disapproving.CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENTHE FARROWSThe Farrows had pitched camp within the shelter of a hollow containing a spring, a rarity on the plain of Scarpe.Groundwater was scarce on the plain.Creeks and rivers were nonexistent, apart from the Rennet River bordering the plain’s southern edge.About a dozen wagons were drawn up in a semicircle near the spring, and a temporary corral had been put together for the colts.The older horses never wandered far; such was the bond between Farrow and horse.There were upward of fifty Farrows, and they ranged the gamut from tiny Morn, the four-month-old grandnephew of Cullan Farrow, the patriarch of the clan, to old Sula Farrow, Cullan’s widowed mother.Uncles, aunts, cousins, young, and old.The Farrows took their brides from all four corners of Tormay, and every hue of skin and hair could be found within their family, though the thin, hawkish face and gray eyes were seen everywhere.The duke’s party stayed with the Farrows for two days, even though this meant they would be late for the beginning of the Autumn Fair in Hearne.The duchess had words with her husband about this, but he was unrepentant, as there was nothing he loved more than talking horses with old Cullan Farrow.Though he was wise enough not to say this to her.“My dear,” said the duke, “there are two or three colts I’ll have to see put through their paces.Cullan bought them in Harlech—bought them, of course—stealing a horse in Harlech! Why, you might as well cut your own throat on the spot.Best bloodlines in all Tormay.A positive gold mine for breeding.”“Imagine that,” said his wife.But she knew a lost cause when she saw one and contented herself with sitting in the shade of one of the wagons—for the Farrows had promptly cleared out of one their nicer covered wagons for the duke and duchess—where she spent hours knitting.“It’s not that I mind,” she said to Levoreth.“It does seem to have taken Hennen’s mind off the Blys.There’s something restful about the Scarpe, the way the wind billows the grasses.It’s like the waves on the sea.Even with these Farrows popping up everywhere like dandelions, it’s peaceful here—which can never be said about a city like Hearne.” And here she glared good-naturedly at several children who were peeping around the wagon wheel.They giggled and scampered away.“However, I can’t allow your uncle to have his way whenever he wants.”“Of course not,” said Levoreth, smiling.“You’re laughing at me.”“Yes.”Cullan Farrow was a tall man and as lean and hard as a polished oak spear.His hair was white and cropped close to his skull.His eyes were gray, as cold and hard as a winter sky in Harlech.But he smiled easily, and then the gray warmed well enough.“Botrell has a nice pair of colts now,” he said to the duke.They stood at the edge of the camp, smoking their pipes and watching several yearlings being put through their paces.“Foaled off of Riverrun’s dam, no?” said the duke.“Aye, so you’ve heard then.”“The traders have been talking of that line getting good hunters for him.”Cullan nodded.“There’s good blood there, and the newest colts should be proof if they’re broken well.Botrell’s got some wise lads in his stable.”They were both silent for a moment.The boys on the yearlings called cheerfully to each other as they galloped across the green sward [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.The lantern fell from his grasp and broke on the cobblestones, sending up a brief flare of flame over the pooled oil.Glass crunched underneath the wihht’s boot and the flame was extinguished.“No, no!” sobbed the Juggler.He shrank away and covered his face with his hands.“I believe you,” said Nio.“You do?” faltered the fat man, peeping at him from between his fingers.“Yes.By the way, it’s nothing personal, but this will probably hurt a great deal.”Nio turned and stalked away down the dark street.The boy was all that mattered now.Only the boy.But he would make the Guild and its client pay dearly for what they had done.First the boy, then he would see to everything else.Everything! He ground his teeth together in fury.He had been so close.The boy had been within his hands.He could have snapped his filthy little neck.The wihht would find him.It would find him, sniffing its way through the city until it caught the scent.Behind Nio, a scream choked into a sort of bubbling noise, and then a sigh.The clouds in the sky had frayed away sometime in the last hour, and the moon stared down, pale and white and disapproving.CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVENTHE FARROWSThe Farrows had pitched camp within the shelter of a hollow containing a spring, a rarity on the plain of Scarpe.Groundwater was scarce on the plain.Creeks and rivers were nonexistent, apart from the Rennet River bordering the plain’s southern edge.About a dozen wagons were drawn up in a semicircle near the spring, and a temporary corral had been put together for the colts.The older horses never wandered far; such was the bond between Farrow and horse.There were upward of fifty Farrows, and they ranged the gamut from tiny Morn, the four-month-old grandnephew of Cullan Farrow, the patriarch of the clan, to old Sula Farrow, Cullan’s widowed mother.Uncles, aunts, cousins, young, and old.The Farrows took their brides from all four corners of Tormay, and every hue of skin and hair could be found within their family, though the thin, hawkish face and gray eyes were seen everywhere.The duke’s party stayed with the Farrows for two days, even though this meant they would be late for the beginning of the Autumn Fair in Hearne.The duchess had words with her husband about this, but he was unrepentant, as there was nothing he loved more than talking horses with old Cullan Farrow.Though he was wise enough not to say this to her.“My dear,” said the duke, “there are two or three colts I’ll have to see put through their paces.Cullan bought them in Harlech—bought them, of course—stealing a horse in Harlech! Why, you might as well cut your own throat on the spot.Best bloodlines in all Tormay.A positive gold mine for breeding.”“Imagine that,” said his wife.But she knew a lost cause when she saw one and contented herself with sitting in the shade of one of the wagons—for the Farrows had promptly cleared out of one their nicer covered wagons for the duke and duchess—where she spent hours knitting.“It’s not that I mind,” she said to Levoreth.“It does seem to have taken Hennen’s mind off the Blys.There’s something restful about the Scarpe, the way the wind billows the grasses.It’s like the waves on the sea.Even with these Farrows popping up everywhere like dandelions, it’s peaceful here—which can never be said about a city like Hearne.” And here she glared good-naturedly at several children who were peeping around the wagon wheel.They giggled and scampered away.“However, I can’t allow your uncle to have his way whenever he wants.”“Of course not,” said Levoreth, smiling.“You’re laughing at me.”“Yes.”Cullan Farrow was a tall man and as lean and hard as a polished oak spear.His hair was white and cropped close to his skull.His eyes were gray, as cold and hard as a winter sky in Harlech.But he smiled easily, and then the gray warmed well enough.“Botrell has a nice pair of colts now,” he said to the duke.They stood at the edge of the camp, smoking their pipes and watching several yearlings being put through their paces.“Foaled off of Riverrun’s dam, no?” said the duke.“Aye, so you’ve heard then.”“The traders have been talking of that line getting good hunters for him.”Cullan nodded.“There’s good blood there, and the newest colts should be proof if they’re broken well.Botrell’s got some wise lads in his stable.”They were both silent for a moment.The boys on the yearlings called cheerfully to each other as they galloped across the green sward [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]