"Boyer, Elizabeth - Thrall And The Dragon's Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Boyer Elizabeth)

The Thrall And The DragonТs Heart
By Elizabeth Boyer

Scanned, proofed and formatted by BW-SciFi
Release date: December, 22nd, 2002
A Del Rey Book
Published by Ballantine Books

Copyright й 1982 by Elizabeth Boyer

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 82-72576

ISBN 0-345-31445-X

Printed in Canada
First Edition: September 1982
Third Printing: May 1983
Cover art by Michael Herring
Map by Chris Barbieri

Dedicated to Capitol Reef, an oasis of peace.


Chapter I

Brak shivered under the onslaught of the howling, gusting snowstorm, which had suddenly and completely enveloped the two travelers, transforming the spring afternoon into a fury straight from the dark heart of midwinter. The light failed rapidly and the storm obscured the surrounding landscape until Brak and Pehr could see little beyond their horses' flattened ears. The riders wrapped their hoods and cloaks tightly around themselves, watching anxiously for the welcoming lights of Vigfusstead. Pehr's father Thorsten, the chieftain of his Quarter, would be there waiting for them, enjoying the warmth of Vigfus' fires and his golden mead in the ancient longhouse his ancestors had built. Brak closed his eyes against a particularly hostile blast and pictured those seasoned, black beams and thick, friendly turf walls. Someone would be playing the harp and singing or reciting poetry, and all the guests would be warm and well fed in the finest traditions of Scipling hospitality.
Pehr's voice jolted him from his half-drowsing stupor. "Brak, I said do you think Vigfus will have the sense to send someone to meet us with a light? We might have been there by now, if anyone had any brains."
Brak could see nothing of Pehr but a white lump crouching in the saddle of a larger white lump. The larger lump stopped and blinked its snow-fringed eyes and heaved a reproachful sigh.
"Do you think we're lost?" Brak hated to ask, knowing Pehr would think he was a coward.
"Lost on Vigfus' road? Don't be absurd. I remember distinctly when we crossed the beck, so the hall must be over this next hill. I hope you're not going to disgrace yourself and me by being cowardly. I'm supposed to be your chieftain and you're supposed to trust me, remember?"
Brak muttered a grudging agreement. Although he had grown into a tall, stout young man, a veritable shaggy bear, he still had a tendency to blush furiously for little cause and he didn't like to fight, which earned for him a reputation of cowardice.
He was of a mind to be frightened now, knowing that the cold and stony interior of Skarpsey was famous for its ability to confound the traveler with mazes of weird and desolate formations of lava rock, rendered even more inscrutable by clouds of steam from legions of smoking geysers. He was also aware of the reputed strange magic that ruled the interior of the island.
"We aren't lost, Brak. The snow makes it seem longer, and we're traveling slower, too. You know old Faxi couldn't hope to keep up with Asgrim otherwise. I feel in my bones that we're getting closer, and any moment we'll meet a thrall from Vigfusstead coming to light our way with a lantern. I refuse to be lost besides. The son of Thorsten simply couldn't do something so stupid and commonplace."
"Well, I, as a mere thrall, could manage it without the least trouble." Brak urged Faxi forward, noting how the snow had matted the horse's thick mane until he seemed scarcely able to lift his head. It also matted Brak's beard, a short, fine ruff sprouting around his face in generous growth for his early years of manhood.
"Hush!" Pehr commanded. "If you'll be quiet, I can listen for someone shouting to us."
"It will probably be a troll," Brak muttered. "I'm not too proud to be superstitious. That's one of the privileges of the lower classes."
They slogged through the deepening drifts, until both horses stopped suddenly, lifting their heads and staring with alarm into the swirling gloom ahead. With rattling snorts, they backed away, refusing to go farther.
"Barrows!" Brak gasped, catching sight of what waited ahead. Old lintels and doorposts loomed in the dimness, capped with hats of snow like grim old ghouls standing watch over the dead in the mounds.
Pehr led the retreat, halting in the lee of a scarp of lava. "Well, now we know we're slightly off the road. You might have said something sooner, Brak."
"I did, this morning before we started out," Brak said. "I told you it would probably snow; and if you hadn't been so lazy yesterday, we could have left with Thorsten to see the law-giving. But you couldn't make up your mind until the last minute, and then it was too late."
Pehr responded with a snort. "I suppose what we should do is find a place with a little shelter and wait for daylight. We can't really be too far off the track."
"I don't know why not," Brak growled, gnawing his lip in earnest worry. From their earliest childhood scrapes together, he had been expected to see to it that Pehr came to no harm; and if anything went wrong, it was invariably Brak's fault. Since Pehr had never possessed much common sense, it was no wonder that Brak had spent most of his existence in a condition of fear.
Silently they toiled up yet another hillside and stopped. Pehr gave a shout and began pounding clouds of snow from Brak's shoulders.
"Look there, Brak! It's Vigfusstead! Didn't I tell you we weren't far off the road?"
Brak saw one tiny light far below, which seemed half smothered by the storm. "That's Vigfusstead? I'd expected more lights," he said, but Pehr chose to ignore him. With rising spirits, they rode toward the faint, ruddy light. Even the tired horses walked more willingly.
The light soon showed itself to be the fireglow coming from a half-open door. Brak stopped several times to look at it doubtfully, but Pehr forged on confidently.
"This isn't Vigfusstead, Pehr," he finally announced as they approached the dooryard. "I can't imagine where we are. Whose holding could this be? There aren't any holdings this close to Vigfusstead, are there?"
"Nonsense. Of course there are, or this one wouldn't be here. Come on, Brak, quit being such a fat old coward." Pehr dismounted and approached the half-open door. "They'll be glad to let us stay the night and feed us a good meal, and I know you won't balk at anything remotely edible. Halloa! Is anyone awake in there?" He rapped at the window and waited.
A thin, pale face peered out the door warily. It was a serving girl, but she reminded Brak of a cornered fox looking at its assassins. Raggedly clad and ragged-haired, she seemed ready to bolt away at any instant.