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

Pehr was trying to get a fire going, without much luck. "More likely it's a message from the dark elves saying to keep out or go back. I don't like this place, with all these old barrows and fogs and mists. Have you got that hoax of a pendulum to work yet, by the way?"
He watched very anxiously, for a skeptic, as Brak tested the directions with the pendulum. He walked around the stone several times with no results, ignoring Pehr's snorts of disgust. In quiet despair, he leaned against the stone and looked around at the unwholesome terrain sinking into darkness. Immediately to the west lay a dark stretch of marshes and burial mounds, overhung with scarves of mist which reminded him of the ghostly ruins of the hill fort they had passed. He could not believe Ingvold had deliberately chosen that wayЧmost earnestly he hoped she had notЧbut he dowsed in that direction anyway, to be sure. His heart started to thump as the pendulum began narrowing its arcs into wide circles, which tightened and quickened into an unmistakable indication of the correct direction. Hastily Brak snatched the pendulum and stuffed it into his pocket. He was not yet ready to convince Pehr that they should plunge into the thickest, gummiest part of the marshes in search of Ingvold.
After supper, Pehr promptly fell asleep, in spite of the fact that it was his turn to stand watch. Brak didn't really mind; he didn't feel at all sleepy. Something about the Alfar realm kept him awake and straining his ears to hear, as if there were sounds he had just barely missed hearing and things he had just missed seeing out of the corner of his eye. He settled himself beside the glowing coals, watching and listening for all he was worth, with his cloak drawn up under his ears and Pehr's sword held gingerly in one hand. Faxi and Asgrim had grazed themselves almost out of sight into a deep ravine where a small stream chattered in the darkness. Reluctantly Brak left his warm post to retrieve the horses, guided only by their distant munching and tearing sounds. The night was of that peculiar northern whiteness when the moon was full and the sky seemed more stars than blackness. Brak lingered, after driving stakes into the ground to picket the horses, enjoying the feeling that he was alone and fending for himself in a world of very real dangers.
He returned quietly so that he wouldn't disturb Pehr. Rounding the shoulder of the hill, he halted stock-still, not believing what he was seeing. Four short fellows in dark cloaks were standing with their backs to him, staring at the fresh letters on the upright stone. Pehr was safely out of sight on the far side of the stone, sleeping peacefully.
Brak began inching backward before they saw him, but they seemed completely occupied with whispering among themselves. Brak didn't know whether to shout and warn Pehr, or to hide. All his instincts advised him to do the latter, and under a bed if possible. Nobody needed to tell him that these were dark elves. Their mere presence inspired in him the deepest feelings of dread and terror.
The dark elves suddenly turned and took a step toward Brak before realizing someone was there. With exclamations of alarm, they sprang away like birds taking flight, regrouping with drawn swords.
"What do you want?" a rasping voice demanded. One of the dark elves stepped forward warily.
"This is where I'm camping," Brak answered, hoping his voice sounded steadier than his knees were. "I was about to ask you the same thing myself." That wasn't true, of course, but he hoped they wouldn't realize it. He edged carefully toward his fire, where Pehr's sword lay.
The dark elves peered around him, craning their necks to see beyond the standing stone. "Who are you? Did you write this message on the stone?" The speaker underlined his words with flicks of his gleaming sword. "Or are you the Brak it refers to? Who is it you're following?"
Brak coughed, hoping the sound would awaken Pehr. "Such a lot of questions. Might I ask who is doing the asking?"
"Are you by yourself?" The inquisitive one peered around with growing confidence.
"My companion is there," Brak said, nodding toward the stone.
The dark elves looked from the stone to Brak and nervously stepped away a few more paces, their confidence suddenly vanishing. Brak took advantage of their hesitation and strode quickly toward the stone and almost threw himself against it for support. For a moment he had the strange impression that the massive stone moved, as if it had rocked slightly at his touchЧridiculous of him, because the stone was solidly rooted in rocky earth.
The dark elves circled about like hostile dogs looking for an opening to attack. The leader called a whispered conference with his cronies, then advanced a wary pace. His face was indistinguishable in the uncertain light, but Brak could feel his feral eyes blazing at him. "You're an intruder here, aren't you? You might be from the other realm, for all we know. Someone is leaving these markers for you to follow. We've been following them ourselves, from hilltop to hilltop, as straight as the crow flies. Is it true that Sciplings have no natural powers to defend themselves with, as they say?"
"I wouldn't know," Brak replied truthfully, wondering what natural powers the fellow meant.
The leader drew back with a hiss, summoning his companions. "Do you think he's the one? Shall we take him?"
The others muttered and demurred. "You know what a temper Hjordis has when somebody crosses her. Better make certain first."
"We could leave him for the Myrkriddir," one suggested with a nasty cackle. "I don't like the way he hugs that stone, as if there might still be power in it. Let the Myrkriddir get sizzled, not us."
"What do you say to that?" the leader called to Brak. "Should we let the Myrkriddir have you? Or would you rather come away quietly and have a chance to survive? Hjordis would like to ask you some questions about Ingvold, nothing more. You needn't be afraid," he added, sidling a step or two closer.
Brak sidled closer to Pehr's sword, cursing the imperturbability of Pehr's sleep, as if it were his divine right not to awaken at every whisper and rustle, as Brak did. Another step, and his toe touched the hilt of the sword. Brak doubted it would do him much good, but if he was about to die, he would rather it be with a sword in his hand.
"No, thank you," Brak said, stooping and snatching up the sword. "I'm not interested in answering any of Hjordis' questions. Between this sword and this stone, you'll not get very far at all with me, so you may as well go back to wherever you came from."
The dark elves eyed his sword and were not impressed. They whispered together for a moment. "It's nothing but a rock!" one declared.
"Then you fight him," another said. "My grandfather was melted by one of those cursed stones. There's still power in those old lines and stones, you know."
"I can't do it. My stars are unfavorable until next month."
"But the fellow is obviously powerless," the leader said, raising his sword challengingly. "It would certainly look bad for us to leave him for Myrkjartan to find. We'd better attempt it and die rather than explain why we failed."
They muttered in sullen agreement, unsheathing an axe or two to bolster their courage. Brak hugged the warm, rough surface of the stone at his back and blinked at the sweat trickling down the bridge of his nose. He took a two-handed grip on the sword, flinched at the first feint the Dokkalfar took at him, then raised his weapon in self-defense. The swords clashed with a numbing impact and a tremendous burst of light. The Dokkalfar gave a triple yell of fright and astonishment as their leader suddenly flared like a torch from head to heel in an aura of blue flame. Sword, helmet, and armor dropped with a clatter as the creature simply melted away like ice. Brak blinked his dazzled eyes, and the remaining three uttered spells and vanished.
With a shout, Pehr awoke from his sleep and rushed around the stone, snatched his sword from Brak's unprotesting hand, and prepared himself for battle.
"They're gone now," Brak said in considerable exasperation. "I've never seen a person sleep so soundly as you when something important is happening!"
"You ninny! I could have caught them! Next time let me stand guard so you won't get caught napping. Why didn't you defend yourself, Brak? Why do you have to be such aЧ" He stopped and backed away from the still-smoking heap of clothing and weapons, now resting in a slimy black puddle. With careful pokes with his toe he ascertained what the remains had been, and looked at Brak without an ounce of comprehension.
"WhatЧwhoЧ" he began.
Hurriedly Brak answered, "It was the stone that did it. I onlyЧ"
"The stone! That's a nice way to talk to your oldest friend and benefactor!" Pehr turned to stalk away.
"But let me explain! The power in the stoneЧ"
"If you don't want to tell me the truth, then you needn't manufacture a lot of implausible lies, Brak. I never thought there would be secrets between you and me, after practically growing up together as brothers."
"I'm trying to tell you, but you won't listen to me, as usual," Brak retorted. "If you won't listen or believe what I say, then there's no sense wasting my breath."
"That's right. Silence is better than deception." Pehr turned his back and left Brak to stand guard for the rest of the night.
The next day passed without either speaking to the other. That night Brak grimly took the first watch, hoping he could somehow stay awake. While Pehr slept, he alternately dozed and nodded, twitching awake with a guilty start to stare around anxiously and wonder what had awakened him. After four nervous starts, he thought he heard something in a ravine near their camp. Any drowsiness he might have felt vanished instantly, and his eyes were as hard and bright as the stars overhead. After a long time, he saw a movement in the shadows. His hair rose in anticipation of another visit from the Dokkalfar, who were probably seeking revenge for their slain comrade.
The lone intruder glided toward the camp, boldly rummaging in the packs and darting wary glances all the while at Pehr, who was sleeping soundly.
Brak crept forward, hearing the thief's teeth tearing at something with voracious energy. The fellow was so preoccupied with shoving food into his mouth that Brak approached unnoticed and suddenly seized him from behind, strangling a loud shriek.
Pehr leaped up with a shout, grasped his sword, and bared it under the prowler's nose with a pronounced tremor. "A Dokkalfar spy! I was watching for you, you sneaking rascal! Hold onto him, Brak."
The ragged old thief struggled feebly, casting his eyes over his hosts with terror and dropping a staff and ragged pouch. He gasped, "Be merciful, I beg you! I was only stealing something to eat. Such big, stout fellows as yourselves needn't fear anything from a half-starved old wanderer like me."
Pehr lowered his sword cautiously. "It's true, he doesn't look like much. Let him go, Brak, and we'll have a better look at him."
The intruder clasped his thin hands gratefully. His clothing was nothing but a bundle of rags arranged to conceal the deficiencies of one bit of clothing with another worn-out garment. Brak could see the thinness of his emaciated nose, and his scrubby beard scarcely covered his gaunt cheekbones.
"Permit me to introduce myself," the old fellow said with as much dignity as he could muster. "I am called Skalgr. In happier times I was a well-known wizard, but you now see me much abused by cruel circumstances, reduced to thievery for a bit of food to keep myself alive. I wouldn't blame you if you killed me, but even such a life as mine is nevertheless rather dear to me, if you can only spare it, please."
"You said you were a wizard?" Pehr looked more dubious than impressed.
"Why, yes, I amЧwhen I'm not so fearfully reduced in my fortunes. I expect to become respectable again someday and repay those who were kind to me, and I shall also repay the other sorts." He shook his wretched clothes into a semblance of order, glancing all the while at Brak. "You're quite certain you're notЧah, outlaws, perhaps, or possibly even killers, eh?"
"You've nothing to fear," Pehr said, "as long as you take what we give you and move on. Brak, give the old wretch that bit of bread he was chewing on and send him on his way. I can see now my sleep was disturbed for nothing."
He started to turn away, but Brak caught him and whispered excitedly, "Don't you think it's possible he might know something about Ingvold? If we feed him and treat him kindly, he may tell us he's seen her or at least heard of her."
Pehr looked doubtful. "An old thieving scavenger like him hasn't the leisure for worrying about anything but the next meal. How much food do you think it will take to get him to talk?"
Brak beckoned to Skalgr. "Come closer. You can trust us. How would you like to warm yourself by our fire and share our food and drink? You look as if your last full belly was a long time past."