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

"Oh, indeed, a very long time!" Skalgr rubbed his skinny hands over the fire ecstatically, as if they were a tasty delicacy he was toasting. "Would you by chance have a small something a poor old wizard could beg to drink? I've been wandering and begging my way through life for a very long time, I fear, since no ringlord wishes to attach my services. Unimpeachable services, to be sure, but it's an ungrateful, unappreciative world. Nothing fancy; just scraps will do for poor old Skalgr."
He fixed a hopeful, ingenuous gaze upon Brak, who began burrowing through the packs to find something suitable for their visitor. The bread was tested and regretfully pronounced too stale. Leftover ashcakes were likewise rejected with much sorrow. Finally Skalgr accepted a dried herring and a bit of precious cheese, although it was rather hard and smelly.
"This is lovely," the wizard sighed, shutting his eyes and waving one hand as if he were bestowing a blessing. "I don't suppose you'd consider making some tea to soak that horrid black bread in, would you? My teeth aren't what they once were, sadly enough. Have you a knife for this cheese? I see by the toothmarks your usual method of disposition, but I, as a stranger, hesitate to take such liberties."
"Our tea is rather stewed, but a little water will relieve it," Brak said, pushing the pot back into the coals. "Pehr, won't you cut off a portion of the cheese?"
Pehr had begun to get restless from the moment Skalgr had turned down the hard bread. He glared at the old wizard and exclaimed, "Just bite off some with your own teeth! He's not exactly polite company, is he? I've seen moochers before, but none so mincing about what they beg. Skalgr, as soon as you're finished with your tea and bread, you'd better not make any more requests."
"Pehr, you needn't be unkind, even if he is only an old wanderer," Brak said reprovingly, knowing something of poverty and want. "He's not a common old beggar; you can tell he had manners once."
Skalgr elevated one eyebrow and took an uncommonly dainty sip of tea. "You're very kind, Brak, but don't be alarmed. I'm not offended by the harshness of my betters. I was once regarded as a most promising young wizard, in better days, before I ran afoul of the ale. But never mind. What I was about to propose was an exchange of services. For a very modest fee, I will take you wherever you wish to go and protect you from others like me. Have you any spirits, by the way?"
"Ale, you mean?" Pehr snorted. "Not to waste on the likes of you. I'd say that old nose of yours has already done far too much sniffing of corks in its day. And as for the notion of allowing you to set up permanent mooching arrangements, it's unthinkable. You haven't got enough magical powers to protect us. You couldn't blow your own hat off in a high wind."
Skalgr drew himself together huffily. Seizing his staff and ragged pouch, he said, "I've never been one to force myself where I wasn't wanted. I shall bid you farewell, and may we never meet again. I wish you the best of luck in your travels." His eyes glanced slyly to the great stone and the charcoal scratchings on it. "I wish you success in finding your Ingvold."
Brak dropped his cup of tea. "Skalgr! Don't go! What did you say?" He plunged into the darkness after the old wizard, who hadn't gone far.
"No, no, I know where I'm not wanted," Skalgr protested haughtily, poking his way down the hillside with determined stabs of his staff. "I never interfere, I never make useless offersЧ" He struggled to disengage himself from Brak's grasp.
"SkalgrЧ" Pehr called sternly. "I'm sorry I was so hasty. Now come back here at once and explain yourself. We know you're an old vagabond, but that's no matter to us if you know something about Ingvold. Perhaps we can talk more about an exchange of services. Brak, don't be so frightfully slow. See if there isn't something to moisten our throats with, won't you?"
Skalgr stopped his recalcitrant growling and struggling. "Oh, well, since you keep insisting, I'll be willing to reconsider."

Chapter 7

Brak quickly produced a flask and sat Skalgr down in the most comfortable spot, using Pehr's eider for a cushion. Ignoring Pehr's disapproving eye, Brak plied the old wizard with more fish and cheese and refilled his cup.
"Eat all the fish you'd like, Skalgr," he urged, "and there's plenty more tea. When you're quite finished, you can tell us what you know about Ingvold. We've come a long way to find her, and we hope to help her out of a bit of trouble she's in. She's a lone wayfarer like yourself, landless and friendless, practically, except for us. And one other, I suppose. I only hope we're not too late to help her, although we really can't be as much use as her father's old friend Dyrstyggr, whom she speaks of finding."
Skalgr was in the act of gulping ale, his head thrown back, his eyes shut in ecstasy. With a drowning snort he opened his eyes and lowered the flask. "Dyrstyggr!" He choked. "Did you say Dyrstyggr?" He glanced around as if the darkness were crowded with listening ears.
"Don't tell us you're acquainted with him," Pehr said in disgust. "It's a common enough name, I suppose."
"I'm acquainted with him," Skalgr whispered, hunching his shoulders. "I know him very well, in fact. You might say he's my employer, although no one has seen a stitch of him since Myrkjartan and Hjordis seized him and took away all his fine weapons of powerЧMyrkjartan his cloak, Hjordis his swordЧalthough I hear it's not doing her any good because of a curse on itЧand that bog carcass Skarnhrafn wears his helmet. And the other thingЧwell, what I meant to say was, what could this Ingvold be wanting to find Dyrstyggr for?"
Brak looked at Pehr, who shrugged. "You may as well tell him. I can't see any harm in it, since he'll soon drink himself insensible on our ale and forget it. You've already told him too much anyway."
Brak's eyes glowed with excitement. "I think he knows something. It'll be worth a little fish and ale if we can find Ingvold." Turning to Skalgr, he apologized. "You understand we're fearful and suspicious of strangers, even a fine old fellow like you, Skalgr. Listen carefully and don't repeat a word of this to anyone. We're looking for Ingvold Thjodmarsdotter, who is the last survivor of Gljodmalborg. She has one of Dyrstyggr's weapons of power, and she's trying to find him to give it back in exchange for his help. He's rather hard to find, however, and Ingvold is doing her best to keep theЧthe thing out of Myrkjartan's and Hjordis' hands. Now, thenЧtell us what you know about Ingvold. A great deal depends upon you, Skalgr, unless you want to see the Dokkalfar overrun all of Skarpsey."
Skalgr never removed his rapt gaze from Brak's face. At last he bestirred himself and asked, "Is there a bit more cheese? I had only enough to get my appetite for it started. If you knew how long it has beenЧand more ale, if you don't mind. A small flask like this scarcely goes around once before it's empty." Pehr seized the flask and gave it a rueful shake. "Once was about all you sent it around, indeed. Do you think he heard a word of what you said, Brak?"
Brak sliced off a sliver of cheese and watched hopefully as it disappeared down Skalgr's throatЧin small bites, to savor it. "You're too impatient, Pehr. Give him a chance. I'm sure he'll tell us something we want to know." He added another bit of cheese for encouragement.
Skalgr brightened under such coaxing. When Brak returned a full flask to him, he looked positively benevolent. "For Sciplings, you're quite decent fellows," he began, but Pehr leaned over and grabbed a handful of his sparse beard and glowered into his face.
"Who was it told you we're Sciplings?" he demanded. "An old beggar like you gets around, doesn't he? Begs off anybody who happens to be nearby, eh? I'll bet it was four Dokkalfar you were begging off lastЧonly there's just three of them now. One was imprudent, and we were forced to melt him on the spot. I hope you're not great friends with the Dokkalfar, or we may be forced to do away with you, too." He glared impressively at Skalgr, who grinned and winked.
"I've no use for Dokkalfar either. Next day, I spied the remains, but it's true I begged some food and fire from four Dokkalfar and traveled a short way with them, listening to what they said. They were following two Sciplings who had earned Myrkjartan's wrath for helping Ingvold to escape. I thought they sounded as if they needed my help, if they had come to rescue Ingvold from Myrkjartan. He has her at Hagsbarrow, according to these Dokkalfar. She did her best to leave messages for you to follow, but I suppose you can't read Ljosalfar runes, can you? I rather thought not, which is one reason you ought to hire a competent wizard to guide you. I know the way to Hagsbarrow, and I've been inside there a few times, so I could take you there quite easily. Getting her out won't be so easy, but we'll think of something, will we not?" He took another long pull at the flask. "Hah! We'll be more than a match for Myrkjartan, if there's much more ale like this in your baggage."
"Exactly what I feared," Pehr began, but Brak was too excited to pay him any heed.
"What are your terms, Skalgr? We'll hire you, if we can afford you," he added.
Skalgr shrugged with elegant disinterest. "Oh, just give me whatever you think it's worth. I hate discussing cold, hard gold when the life of a beautiful young girl is in question."
"We've got about five marks in gold," Brak said, looking at Pehr. "Would that be sufficient?"
"Oh, dear, yes, that's my going price," Skalgr responded immediately with a gleam in his eyes, holding out his hand expectantly.
Pehr eyed Brak murderously as he pulled his pouch from his pocket and slapped it into Skalgr's hand. "Well, I guess we've bought ourselves a wizard. I can't say I've made a worse bargain lately. You'd better be worth every mark, Skalgr."
Skalgr peeked into the pouch delightedly, then in a twinkling it vanished into some tattered aperture in his clothing. "This is most appreciated. I promise, you'll get results with Skalgr." He tapped his staff on the ground, and the goat's head knob spit a few feeble sparks. Even Brak was forced to admit to himself that Skalgr looked like no match for Myrkjartan's thundering bolts of ice and freezing blasts of power.
Skalgr settled himself down to sleep, contentedly appropriating Brak's eider and using Pehr's for a mattress. He shut his eyes with a comfortable sigh and fell asleep still muttering about his prowess as a wizard, cradling the half-empty flask in the crook of his arm.
In the morning, while Skalgr and Pehr were occupied in a quarrel, Brak began testing the area with the pendulum. He extended his hand westward to the steaming marshlands, silently asking the unseen powers if Ingvold had been taken in that direction. The pendulum gyrated a vigorous affirmative.
"Well!" Skalgr exclaimed behind him. Brak snatched the pendulum swiftly and shoved it into his pocket. "Fancy that! I never imagined you as a dowser, Brak. You look more like the fighting variety. I suspect there's something peculiar about you that doesn't meet the eye at the first glance."
Brak covertly drew his cloak closer around himself, as if the wizard could discern the small parcel he carried around his neck. Skalgr, however, was evidently thinking about the melted dark elf.
"What happened? How did you do it?" Skalgr demanded.
"I didn't do anything. It was the power in the stone, I think. When that Dokkalfar tried to touch me, he went up like a torch,"
Skalgr eyed Brak slyly, reinforcing his doubts with several nips from his flask, which had the effect of steadying his nerves, if not his legs. "There may have been power in these heaps of rock at one time, and it may linger there yet, but I can't imagine such a one as you being able to summon it. You're both so frightfully innocent of all pretensions to magic. You're only young fellows, for all your fierce looks, and you'll need me to protect you from unscrupulous manipulators who capture defenseless travelers and sell them as thralls. But as I was saying, the idea that you could command the old earth powersЧwell, Hel's kettle is more likely to boil first."
Brak only shook his head and climbed onto Faxi's back. Pehr laughed scornfully. "As long as I have a fast horse and a sharp sword, I won't be needing the protection of an old shriveled boot like you. We managed to kill that Dokkalfar without your help, didn't we? Now let's quit the useless talk. Lead on, wizard, to Hagsbarrow."
Skalgr stalked away at a brisk pace northward. Brak hesitated, then followed. As Faxi plodded on contentedly, nipping off mouthfuls of grass every five or six paces, Brak began feeling more uneasy and resentful. When they paused to rest about midmorning, still distant from the murky regions of sedge and scrubby trees to the west, he finally confronted the wizard. "I dowsed Ingvold to the west this morning," he said. "Why aren't we following her to Hags-barrow?"
Skalgr glared at him. "What's the matter, don't you trust me? I've been there a dozen times, and it's best to approach it from the north to avoid the Myrkriddir." Then Skalgr launched into a furious argument, chiefly with himself, ending with the threat that he would leave at once if no one believed him. Brak had his doubts about the leaving, as well as about the northward direction, since Skalgr had taken another bottle of ale in lieu of breakfast and was consequently rather unsteady in his walking.
Brak allowed Pehr and Skalgr to gain a considerable lead on him while he looked at the bogs and thought. With each step, his certainty increased that they were going in the wrong direction. At the very least, he could venture a short way into the marshlands and see if he could catch a glimpse of Hagsbarrow. He knotted his reins high on Faxi's neck so that he wouldn't put a foot through them and unfastened his saddle pouch. Slinging the pouch over his shoulder, he slid off Faxi, who stopped to look at him with disapproval, knowing Brak had no business lying there in the rocks and stickers, clutching his belongings in his arms. Brak waved an arm at the old horse and growled threateningly, "Shoo, scat! Go on, you old goat! Go with Pehr, you piece of troll-bait! Shoo!" He threw a small pebble at the astonished Faxi, who tossed his head in mortal affront and trotted away in high dudgeon after the others.
Brak hurried toward the marshlands, feeling terribly guilty at the idea of deserting his chieftain. He didn't think it would take him long just to climb the nearest small hill for a quick look, and then he could scurry back to Pehr and Skalgr. However, it was rather pleasant to get away from Pehr's superior intelligence and courage, and a definite relief to be rid of the obnoxious Skalgr.
The hill was farther away than it looked. As he made his way deeper into the marshlands, he had to deviate around black pools and mud flats and, worse yet, small round barrows. It was a rotten-smelling place, steeped in foreboding silence broken only by the rattling of the wind in the dead vegetation and the mucky sound of his own footsteps. Before long he was almost tiptoeing, starting at sounds he imagined he could hear over the thumping of his heart.
He had no idea how much time had passed since he had left Pehr and Skalgr, but gathering cloudbanks in the west so diminished the daylight that he decided it was time to return to them without his look at Hagsbarrow. Retracing his path, however, was impossible. Often he saw the footprints that must surely be his disappearing into black pools or menacing quagmires he had no recollection of having crossed. He tried dowsing his way back to safety, but the pendulum would not work for him, although it pointed out the direction to Hagsbarrow almost eagerly. Unhappily, he continued in that direction, penetrating deeper into the gloomy and vaporous heart of the marshlands.
Toward sundown, he observed that the earth was a little less treacherous underfoot and that the bogs appeared fewer and farther apart. Then he recognized a stone ring on a hilltop and plunged toward it like a drowning sailor. The stones stood in a small ring, tilting at various angles like misshapen, revelous dancers. Brak sat down and leaned against one, feeling much safer, and began to look around at the terrain from his slight elevation. The marshlands gradually resolved into grasslands and hills and more barrows, some of which looked as if they had been broken into quite lately. Brak could smell musty, cellary earth mingling with the gaseous odor of the bogs, and the combination tweaked at an old, fearful memory. At once he was back in the stable at Vigfusstead, prying through Myrkjartan's possessions and smelling their awful smell. Suddenly he was convinced that the necromancer was somewhere near. His gooseflesh rose as he looked carefully all around, seeing nothing to alarm him and not feeling very much comforted.