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

"Oh, noЧI mean, yes, she did, but no, we don't wish to harm her, we want to help," Brak exclaimed. "She needs us, or very likely she'll fall under the thrall of Hjordis and Myrkjartan, or, worse yet, do away with her own life to prevent that from happening. She's the last survivor of Gljodmalborg, if that means anything to you." He pinched the case containing the dragon's heart, wondering if he should mention it.
Hrodney's bright, predatory gaze seemed to pierce right through him. "I expect that could mean something, depending upon the property you're talking about. It's reasonable that a chieftain's daughter would entrust a precious object to a thrall to keep it safeЧa trustworthy, courageous thrall who doesn't care two sticks for Myrkjartan and Hjordis, and who would sooner die than give the object over to them."
Pehr looked from Hrodney to Brak with a suspicious scowl. "Wait a moment. Brak's not her thrall, he belongs to me. What's this object you're talking about?"
Hrodney ignored him. "You must go after her, of course, and return her property to her. I caution you not to trust anyone you meet, and you won't want to be captured by Myrkjartan or Hjordis while you are in possession of the dragon's heart."
"What dragon's heart?" Pehr demanded. "Brak, how could you ever consent to such a scheme? We only wanted a bit of protection from Myrkjartan and Hjordis, not to plunge into anything that wasn't our business. I can't risk my life gallivanting around in some invisible realm. I'm the heir to my father's chieftaincy, you might recall."
Hrodney fixed him with a stern glare. "I hope the passage of time will somewhat reduce your own good opinion of yourself, young man. It may astonish you to know that there are other concerns in Skarpsey besides one small chieftaincy along one bit of coastland. It's a pity you're not half as reasonable as this man you call your thrall."
"I never said I wouldn't go, if we must, butЧ"
"I've made my decision." She reached for a leather bag and began to fill it with the sausages hanging from her rafters. As she worked she talked. "Here's bread, cheese, sausages, grains for brothЧ" She continued until she had assembled a large mound of provisions and equipment they would be needing.
"Are you sure we should take all of that?" Pehr asked nervously. "I hadn't planned on being gone for any great time. My father is expecting me at the Thing, and if I disappear long enough to use all thisЧ"
"All this and more before you pass this gate again," Hrodney said. "I'll see to it a message gets to your father that you're safe, although it will be an outright lie, of course, because you won't be safe for an instant in our realm. Now we're ready; we haven't forgotten anything, have we, Brak?"
Brak shook his head and sighed. "Only what we shall pay you for all this. You've gone far beyond the bounds of mere hospitality. Pehr has a bag with gold and silver, haven't you, Pehr? Pay her, and we'll be on our way." He was almost trembling, wondering why he wasn't trying to get out of such a mad scheme, as common sense and native cowardice dictated.
Pehr reached for his money pouch in confusion. "Wait a moment. Who's the chieftain and who's the retainer now? Not that I object, of course," he added when Hrodney gave him a scowl.
"I expect it will do you good to be a follower for once," Hrodney said sharply. "Put your money away and listen to me. I don't want any of it. What good is it to me in my situation? I am what you simple souls would call a witch. I can use spells to turn up gold in the earth or call it forth from the barrow mounds, so I have no need of any of yours. Now, then, you may pack all this lot upon your horses, and I'll take you to the place where your realm adjoins mine. I don't believe I've sent through more unlikely candidates, and I wouldn't do it for anyone but Thjodmarsdotter. She'll be watching for you, if she's not captured. She wouldn't have given you that heart if she hadn't known you'd follow her."
Pehr looked unpleasantly at Brak. "Yes, he's a precious fool sometimes. I've seen him go miles and miles just to repay some tiddily debt to a person of absolutely no consequence. I only hope we'll find Ingvold and get back home again before my father is too frightfully enraged, but I don't have many hopes of that."
"Then send Brak alone," Hrodney said unfeelingly. "He'd come back more of a chieftain than you'd ever be." She stalked to the door and took up an old walking staff. "Are you brave fellows coming?"
Brak looked apologetically at Pehr and shouldered one of the saddle packs. "Come on, Pehr, don't put on your future-chieftain airs. It really doesn't matter now, does it?"
"I suppose not," Pehr retorted, grabbing up the other pouch and lugging it toward the door. "You can be the chieftain and I'll be the thrall, and when you get us into a greater mess than we can get out of alive, then it will be all your fault!"

Chapter 6

Hrodney looked a long while at old Faxi and finally shook her head, muttering something about making troll-bait before three days. When the packs were tied on, she silently pointed toward the open, green hillside and motioned them to follow her, leading the horses.
Pehr hurried to catch up with her. "If you're a witch, you must know something about our future. I think it only fair that you tell us whatever you know, so we'll know what to expect. Which way do we go when we get there? How will we know where Ingvold has gone? HowЧ"
"You ask too many questions. Why can't you be more like your thrall, who knows that if a way is to be opened, the Rhbus will show it to you? A clever person can travel from one end of Skarpsey to the other without danger if he knows what he is about." Hrodney took a dowsing pendulum out of her pocket. "This is the way you shall find Ingvold and answer most of your useless questions."
"I'd prefer a good map," Pehr declared, glaring pointedly at Hrodney, who paid him no attention.
She guided them to a ring of stones standing on a green hilltop. Brak and Pehr led their horses after her. Brak was silent, but Pehr muttered under his breath and glowered at Brak as Hrodney directed them to stand in the center of the circle.
"You got us into this," he growled. "You'd better have some ideas for getting us out. I thought some of my scrapes were pretty bad, but thisЧ"
Brak paid no attention. His eyes were fastened on the black figure at the edge of the ring, making signs with her hands and drawing runes in the dust. His heart pounded and his knees were quivering, until he had to lean against old Faxi for support.
Then the circle of stones seemed to vanish into a cloud of mist. Brak blinked his eyes, and the mist began to clear as a cold wind ripped it to shreds and flapped Brak's cloak in a chilling welcome. The stone circle and the comfortable green fells around Hrodney's house were gone, replaced by a rocky landscape that looked like rotten black bone, worn away by wind and time into eerie towers and spiny crags. Tough shrubs, mosses, and lichens scrabbled for survival in cracks between stones and small sheltered pockets between the jumbled lava flows.
Pehr gasped in dismay and wrapped his cloak around himself. "Is this the Alfar realm? It's perfectly wretched, Brak. Which way do we go from here?"
Brak struggled against the wind to pull his cloak more snugly around him as Faxi danced in a circle while he tried to mount. He couldn't control them both, especially with something in one hand, so he let the cloak flap while he tried to master Faxi. Getting a good, tight grip on Faxi's speckled nose, he took an instant to shove the irritating thing in his hand into his pocket, wondering what it was, and hauling it out again at the last moment for a look at it.
Pehr was shouting at him from the bottom of the hill, and Faxi was impatient, but he was transfixed. The object in his hand was a dowsing pendulum, much like the one he had seen Ingvold use. Hrodney must have put it into his hand before the spell took effect. He remembered her clearly, crouching at the edge of the stone circleЧrather anxiously, he thoughtЧcalling something after him that had been lost in the rushing of the wind.
Pehr's horse came plunging up the hill, with Pehr bellowing furiously. Brak ignored him, studying the pendulum. Experimentally, he let it swing, but it described no oscillations, coming instead to a dead halt.
"Brak, what are you doing? We've got to find some secure place, in caseЧ"
"Shh. Watch." Brak tried another direction.
"You can't make it work. What do you think you are, a wizard? It doesn't make any sense anyway, when you think about it. A bit of a gold coin with a hole in it doesn't know anything. Give me a good road and a fast horse any day, and I'll figure out where I should go." He looked disapprovingly at Faxi, who was tearing up noisy mouthfuls of grass. "Do you suppose that grass is safe?"
Brak wasn't listening. He tried pointing the pendulum to the north. It began making a definite circular movement, strengthening with each circuit until it was swinging strongly in a circle.
"That's the way we'll go," Brak said, pointing almost due north. "I'm almost certain Ingvold has gone that way."
He led at Faxi's best trot, confident in spite of Pehr's bemoaning and complaining. Twice they halted so that he could use the pendulum to make certain they were still on the line. Brak would have gone on until it was pitch-dark, but Pehr knew when it was time to stop and make a camp.
They took turns standing guard. Brak was tired, but too excited to get much sleep. He kept awakening and peering around in the cold, white moonlight at the unfamiliar landscape. Somewhere, in some rocky little niche, Ingvold must be shivering in her thin cloak, hungry perhaps. He ignored his common sense, which told him that if she had the Alfar power of changing at will to her fylgja form, she was probably quite comfortable and warm; a good hunter like a fox could always find a rat or a bird to eat. He didn't really like to think about that.
For several days they followed the ley-line north, seldom bothering with a fire or cooking. The terrain had its own gloomy charms, Brak was beginning to admit, although Pehr steadfastly detested it. For all its filmy waterfalls, reflecting pools, and mossy beauty, the land still seemed to be watching and waiting.
They passed two empty homesteads and the ruins of a hill fort, cold and wreathed in mists on its lofty perch. Their dereliction struck an uneasy cord, particularly when Brak spied shod hoofprints in large numbers crossing their course.
"I'd almost come to believe we were here all alone," Pehr grumbled apprehensively. "Who do you think they are? Ingvold's people?"
Brak looked behind him at the shrouded hill fort. It seemed to be watching them, and following them with its eyes. "I believe Ingvold's peopleЧthe LjosalfarЧare gone. They were the ones in the homesteads and the hill fort. For all we know, that may be Gljodmalborg."
"I wonder what's up there," Pehr mused with a flicker of his old curiosity.
"No! There's nothing on earth that will induce me to go up there," Brak said with a sudden shudder. "It could be those draugar Myrkjartan uses, or dark elves."
Pehr's curiosity was promptly extinguished. He spent the rest of the day urging Brak to hurry up old Faxi and put as many miles between them and the ruins as possible.
The pendulum led them at last into a lowland which was almost pleasant. Green, rolling meadows bordered small lakes where waterfowl abounded. Further into the lowlands, however, they began encountering barrows. They backtracked several times, but it seemed each new route only led to more barrows or worse bogs. Somehow, also, the pendulum quit working for Brak, after days of cooperation. He tried not to feel frightened as the shadows deepened and the barrow mounds became more numerous and the ground more soggy. He wished they had never left the safety of the high, windy hilltops.
Pehr had been grumbling a long time when Brak finally called a halt for the night in a place that he thought might be somewhat safe. It was a low, round hill rising from the steaming lowlands like an island. When they reached its top, they found an upright stone, much blackened around its base by campfires and covered with carvings and scratch-ings. Messages had been left there for centuries for other travelers, but none of them were intelligible to Brak and Pehr.
"You'd think Ingvold could leave us some small sign," Pehr said. "That is, if she suspects Hrodney let us through to follow her."
"She would if she could, I'm sure," Brak said stoutly over his shoulder as he hobbled Faxi nearby. He looked at the pitted surface of the standing stone. "I wonderЧ perhaps some of those runic marks are a message from Ingvold. That one is certainly fresh, scratched with charcoal."