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

Myrkjartan flicked at a fold of his cloak with his staff.
"I haven't noticed any ill effects from the cloak, and most assuredly it was not a gift of free will, since I left its owner for dead."
"But Dyrstyggr isn't dead," Skalgr interrupted.
"No matter," Myrkjartan retorted. "He's nothing without his weapons. Even if you managed to take the heart to him, wherever he's hiding and nursing his disgrace, he can't do you any good with it."
"I don't believe you!" Ingvold's eyes flashed and filled with sudden, angry tears. "My father told me if ever I needed help I could rely upon Dyrstyggr. Perhaps you have beaten him for now and taken his treasures, but he's not dead, he's not defeated, and I know he'll come back to avenge himself on you for taking that cloak and making such a mockery of his powers." She gestured contemptuously around the room at the evidence of Myrkjartan's necromancy.
Myrkjartan's calm was unruffled. "Bid your friends farewell. I can't tell you if you'll ever see them again. That is for you to decide, in your misbegotten pride." He motioned to the Myrkriddir to take her away. She resisted long enough to get the last word.
"If I don't see them again, Myrkjartan, you'll never get this!" She clutched a chain around her neck and waved a small dark case at him in triumph.
Brak looked after her in astonishment, wondering which of them actually carried the decoy.
Myrkjartan angrily stalked up and down the room, kicking parts of draugar out of his path and bending venomous looks upon his captives. Pehr was transfixed, and Skalgr was keeping prudently quiet. Again Myrkjartan singled Brak out, glaring at him in distaste. "I'm beginning to dislike you more each time I see you. For a fat, stupid coward, you certainly manage to trifle with my wrathЧfollowing Ingvold on her hagride, searching my packs at Vigfusstead, and standing between me and the dragon's heart. You are a most unlikely, unlucky star rising on my horizon. I shall have to get rid of you soon, I fear."
Pehr found his tongue and protested. "I don't appreciate such threats being made against Brak, if you don't mind. He's been my own thrall since we were children, and I'm as fond of him as if he were my brother. My father
Thorsten is a chieftain, a man of considerable power in the Scipling realm. I'm sure you wouldn't like to cross him if you knew him."
Myrkjartan transferred his glower from Brak to Pehr. "A thrall you say? A small, wretched girl and a mere thrall attempting to defy me! And you, you conceited son of a Scipling chieftain, dare to threaten me with your father's power? What sort of power does he have? Can he compare with my skills at ice magic or necromancy? Is he a fire wizard?" As he spoke, he moved his hands, writing on the air with frost, conjuring a mighty power into the room that chilled everyone to the bone and caused the turf and timbers to tremble. He pointed to an old skull on a shelf, and it opened its eyes to look around with lively interest and began to mouth and mutter.
Abashed, Pehr shrank back a little behind Brak. "Well, my father's power is more of the money nature, rather than ЧthanЧ" He looked at the skull and couldn't finish, except with an uneasy cough.
"I thought as much. Faugh! It looks as if I'm stuck with you, for a while at any rate." Myrkjartan stalked up and down again.
"If I might venture to offer my services again, my lordЧ" Skalgr began, grinning and sidling after Myrkjartan a very little way.
Myrkjartan halted. "Services? How do you feel about digging? Ha, it makes no difference; that's what you'll be doing. Digging into barrows for more corpses to fight against the Ljosalfar. You in particular, thrall, will be most useful, since you know what it means to work for your keep." He beckoned to the waiting Myrkriddir and directed them to take the prisoners to another room.
"But I had in mind something quite differentЧ" Skalgr began indignantly, but a Myrkridda seized him and bore him away before he could finish, except with a screech or two of protest
They were put into a dreary cellar of a room with only a smoky lamp and scores of hungry rats for company. They attempted to sleep and rest, but it was a distinct relief to be summoned forth to begin their digging. Sometimes they dug by moonlight, under the watchful supervision of a pair of Myrkriddir, or by daylight, with the assistance of several draugar. Frequently they had to work inside when they ran out of that sort of work. Guided by the hisses and snorts of the Myrkriddir, Brak and Pehr learned to sort the musty old arms, legs, and skulls that had been dug in a mess from the bogs. They soon discovered that being outdoors, even in a peat bog, was infinitely preferable to watching Myrkjartan gloatingly assemble his draugar.
They saw Skalgr less frequently, but he was forever hobnobbing with the Myrkriddir and bowing and scraping fatuously before Myrkjartan. The perverse old wizard seemed to rise in favor, drawing easier chores for himself, more and better food, and his own place to live apart from Brak and Pehr, which suited Brak and Pehr to perfection.
In the days to follow there was no significant change in the routine. Brak never ceased to think about Ingvold, wondering where they kept her and how he and Pehr would ever escape. He became accustomed to the sight and company of draugar and Myrkriddir, but he never lost his horror for the grisly occupations of the necromancer. Myrkjartan ignored Brak and Pehr with lofty unconcern, except for an irritable shout now and then. Sciplings were evidently beneath his attention. A nearly intact corpse was of far greater interest.
After almost three weeks of captivity, they were summoned unexpectedly into the sacred precincts of Myrkjartan's work chamber. Their first warning of impending trouble was the large number of Dokkalfar lolling outside the door, picking quarrels with the draugar and Myrkriddir. The Myrkriddir escorting Brak and Pehr shoved them through the crowd and into the chamber beyond, where they saw Hjordis in possession of Myrkjartan's large black chair. The shadow of her headdress kept her face well hidden, and her hands were concealed within the sleeves of her cloak.
Myrkjartan gestured impatiently. "These are the prisoners in question, I believe. You may have them if you wish."
Hjordis retorted, "These aren't the ones I'm interested in. I heard you had captured Ingvold, and I've come to take her back with me to Hjordisborg. I'm sure you haven't the time or the patience for wearing down her resistance and convincing her that her greatest interest lies in giving up Dyrstyggr's heart. Your draugar occupy too much of your time, Myrkjartan. Turn her over to me and we'll have that heart very promptly."
Myrkjartan's eyes narrowed to gleaming points. "Ingvold is well guarded here at Hagsbarrow. I've perceived that there is some sort of bond between the girl and the Sciplings, and I've been threatening her with my killing them until I believe she's almost ready to give it up. Your devious hag spell simply takes too long to work. She's a stubborn, sullen creature. I wonder why she wanted to bring these Sciplings into our realm?" He gave Brak a sharp poke and looked at him disapprovingly. "She needed help," Brak said stolidly. "Yours? Ha!" Myrkjartan replied.
Hjordis laughed scornfully and tapped the sword at her waist with one hand. "Perhaps she knows they are the only ones who can touch Dyrstyggr's weapons without fearing curses and corruption." She turned her face toward the light, and Myrkjartan looked away with a disdainful snort. "Believe it, Myrkjartan. You see what Dyrstyggr has done to me. Something just as bad will happen to you."
"What dismal croaking," Myrkjartan said. "You weren't half so gloomy when the sword enabled you to crush Gljodmalborg."
"I want Ingvold," Hjordis resumed in a deadly tone, "and I shall take her from you if you don't give her up, Myrkjartan. Don't try to thwart me."
"Don't try to threaten me," Myrkjartan returned acidly. "I'm no servant of yours. We are equals in our opposition of Elbegast."
"But Skarnhrafn has the helmet, and Skarnhrafn is your creature. I demand Ingvold and that heart, or very soon we'll no more be equals, but enemies." Hjordis angrily threw back her hood, her eyes blazing from her swollen, discolored face.
"You need me and my draugar too badly for that. Alone, you're not moving very well against the Ljosalfar. You should have attacked Miklborg by now, and you haven't. When Miklborg is taken, we'll discuss who is to possess Ingvold and the heart. I'm at the point of moving my draugar north to Miklborg, and I shall bring the girl and the Sciplings with me. We'll renew this discussion at a later date." He turned back to his work on the table.
Hjordis looked at his back a moment, then at Brak and Pehr with an icy smile. "We shall see about that," she said, and walked toward the door with a slight limp. "Beware of the full moon, Myrkjartan. My astrologers tell me it might be an unfavorable time for you."
"Astrologers!" Myrkjartan growled as she closed the door behind her. "What do I care for her or her wizards? Look alive there, you dolts, can't you see I'm running out of extra parts? Full moon, indeed, as if I had cause to fear any of her useless spells."
"The hag spell isn't a useless spell," Brak said, keeping a wary distance, and a long leg bone in his hand in case he needed a weapon. "I doubt that you'll be able to hold Ingvold if Hjordis sends for her. She'll escape somehow and return to Hjordis with the heart."
Myrkjartan examined a skull and hurled it angrily away. "It makes no difference to nithlings who holds Dyrstyggr's heart. Tend to your own duties or I'll give you to the scavengers."
"Begging your pardon, MasterЧ" Someone scuffled a moment with the Myrkriddir before approaching with much deferential sidling and scuttling. "It's Skalgr, my lord, ever grateful and eternally faithful old Skalgr, but I'm forced to agree with the Scipling. Hjordis is likely to call the girl and the heart right out of Hagsbarrow, whether you wish it or not. I have an idea, howeverЧ"
"Silence! It'll be a desperate day when I need the advice of an old vagabond like you!" Myrkjartan roared furiously. "Take yourself away, and take the Sciplings back to their cell while you're at it. If you don't want to become a draug, you'd better stay out of my sight for a few days."
"Thank you, thank you, my lord!" Skalgr exclaimed, hurrying Pehr and Brak toward the door. "I'm always grateful to do your bidding, my lord, always faithful, alwaysЧ" The door slammed shut, cutting off any further effusions.
"Skalgr, you disgust me," Pehr declared as they picked their way through the longhouse to their gloomy cellar lodgings. "Look at youЧnew clothes, boots, cloak, and even a knifeЧ"
"A very small knife," Skalgr added hastily. "Barely big enough to eat with. They know a wretch like me can't be any threat, living as I do on my stomach and gullet."
"I'd say they have you pegged pretty close," Brak said gloomily. "As long as there's food, you won't betray them."
"Move aside there!" Skalgr called officiously to a knot of
Myrkriddir. "Prisoners coming through! Out of the way, you dustbags!"
"Ever faithful, aren't you, Skalgr?" Pehr demanded as Skalgr bowed them into their cell.
Skalgr winked and hauled a parcel out of his cloak. "To be sure I am, my dear friends. Here's a lovely feast for you Чmutton, bread, and cheese. I never stop thinking of you for a moment. I've made friends in high places, such as the kitchen and the guardroom. There are only a few of us in Hagsbarrow who are alive, you know, so we have to stick together as best we can. I hope you don't mind my scraping along as I doЧyou see, you'll benefit from it. That's a nice bit of mutton, isn't it?"
"You're the mutton, Skalgr," Pehr growled, sinking his teeth into the meat with great relish. "Now just go away, won't you?"
Skalgr closed the door and locked it securely, checking it twice to be sure. "I won't go far, my friends; you can count on old Skalgr!" He scurried away, chuckling to himself and rallying the Myrkriddir as if they were on the most intimate of terms.
Brak watched the phases of the moon closely each night through a small gap in the stonework. Feeling helpless and angry, he noted it waxing toward the apex of its career.
"Myrkjartan can't hold her," he fumed. "If she escapes, then we've got to follow her."
Pehr looked horrified. "My feet won't stand for another hagride, Brak. Not to mention the fact, of course, that escaping from here is almost as likely as a whale that flies. How do you propose to do it, just burst through that door?" Brak brooded in silence, his eye upon the moon through the niche. "It's almost full, wouldn't you say? Do you think this will be the night when Hjordis calls?"
Pehr only shook his head and lay down on his thin pallet of straw with a sigh. The rattling of a key in the lock revived him suddenly, and a hoarse voice announced, "Here's your supper."