"Boyer, Elizabeth - Thrall And The Dragon's Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Boyer Elizabeth)
"I must be dreaming this," Brak told himself, "so there's no sense getting frightened, is there? I'm asleep, safe at home at Thorstensstead in the loft over the hallЧ" Accidentally he touched Pehr's sword at his belt, startling himself. Gripping it resolutely, he strode down the tunnel to the first lamp. Far ahead, the distant, sharp clipping of a horse's hooves on stone made Faxi lift his head and listen.
Brak mounted his horse and sent him trotting after Pehr, trying not to wonder where the mysterious tunnel was leading to, or how it had got there, or who had made it. He didn't feel like shouting in such a place. He wasn't at all certain it wasn't a dream; and if he was actually asleep back at Katla's, he didn't want to go shouting his head off as a guest in a stranger's house. Awakening the household would be extremely bad manners.
The tunnel ended, finally, without a glimpse of the other horse. It looked exactly like two great, half-open doors leading into a well-lit room. Brak almost chuckled, knowing for certain he must be dreaming.
He dismounted and groped his way forward in the dark, blundering unexpectedly into the other horse. It was tied to a ring in the wall and breathing as if it had galloped a long way. After the initial fright of Brak's bumping into it, the horse let its head droop again and began to shiver. Brak touched its sweat-soaked neck, wondering how long the poor beast had stood, hot, winded, and growing stiffer and colder the longer it stood. It rolled fearful eyes at
Brak and trembled as he smoothed its soaking neck and peered cautiously between the doors into the room beyond.
It had once been a large and magnificent hall, but now it looked like a forgotten lumber room. Tattered rags hanging on the walls and old sheep fleeces thrown in heaps added their own rotting smells to the natural mustiness of the cavern. Splintered timbers held up the roof in several places and were sprouting coats of phosphorescent fungus. Two small, shaggy ponies were tied to the timbers, snorting and rolling their eyes at the flickering of the fire in the center of the chamber. Brak had never seen such ponies. They were black, delicate creatures, glossy and fiery of eye, reminding Brak somehow of spiders. He shivered and poked his head a little farther around the edge of the door.
The riders of the black ponies stood on the far side of the fire, so he could see them only through the veil of dancing flame. The instant he caught sight of them, a voice shouted threateningly, "You know you can never go back now! You'll be in our power until you die, which may be very soon if you continue with such stubborn behavior. All I have to do is breathe one word to Katla's zealous and superstitious neighbors, and you'd be burned alive or hanged. I'm sure you know what that one word is, so I needn't repeat it. Even your own people would rather see you dead than allow you to return to them the way you are. Now, what is your choice? Are you going to step forward and swear your loyalty to us, or are you going to die?"
Chapter 2
Brak gasped, staggering back against the door, certain he was going to be killed on the spot for the heinous crime of eavesdropping.
Then a different voice answered. "I doubt if I will die, HjordisЧnot while I have the gift my father left me. That's what you want me for, isn't it, so you can take possession of this small object I wear around my neck? All I have to say to you, Hjordis, Queen of the Dark Alfar though you may be, is that you shall never get this necklace from me, whether I live or whether I die, and I know you wouldn't dare try taking it by force."
Brak crouched behind the door, peering around it with helpless dread and fascination. He saw a third figure confronting the other two, a smaller figure in a ragged cloak with a kerchief tied around her head. The girl reminded him of Katla's kitchen maid, Grima, only more bold and defiant. She revealed a gleam of gold at her throat for a moment, then quickly concealed the small object inside her tattered tunic.
"You'll never get it by force," a deep male voice rumbled from the blurred image of a black-shrouded figure with a long gray beard. "The Rhbus will never permit it."
Hjordis, the queen, had taken two swift strides toward the girl. Now she halted and put something back into her beltЧa knife, by its flashing gleam. "Would they dare strike the Queen of the Dark Alfar?" she demanded with a toss of her lofty headdress. It was a sinister contrivance of bits of fur, bones, teeth, and other peculiar objects.
"Would you like to tempt them?" the deep voice replied sharply. "You're already risking their anger by putting your curse on her and forcing her to stay with old Katla. She's not going to run directly back to her people, who would most likely lock her up and try to work a cure which would almost certainly be the death of her. Neither will she be able to find old Dyrstyggr to help her cause some sort of mischief; we've seen to it that he'll never get his powers back. Now all that remains is for us to convince Ingvold that her best interest lies in giving us Dyrstyggr's dragon heart. We're engaging in war on a grand scale, so where on earth could a lone, wretched girl such as Ingvold possibly thwart our plans? Those who tried to oppose us, such as her father Thjodmar and Dyrstyggr, are all happily dead or out of the way, are they not?"
Hjordis folded her hands inside the deep sleeves of her gown and stared haughtily at the girl. "Yes, but she still possesses that heart and we must have it. As you say, she is alone and insignificant, and I'd gladly kill her in an instant if not for fear of the Rhbus, who protect her, but the question is how to get the heart away from her. I believe in playing on the safe side."
"Indeed, I never suspected such a thing," Myrkjartan grunted. "I believe you're coveting that heart so desperately you'd do anything to get it for yourself."
"You'll never get it," Ingvold said scornfully. "I am the last of Thjodmar's line, and as long as I live you shall never possess the dragon's heart and the assistance of the Rhbus."
Hjordis' hand reached toward the knife at her belt. "But perhaps I can persuade you to come over to our side, willingly and gladly. You'll get tired of my curse before long, my girl. It's not pleasant to be a hag, as you have discovered. I can't say which fate would be worse, falling into the hands of the Sciplings, who would burn you alive, or into the hands of the Light Alfar, who would try to cure you. No, I daresay you won't escape from me, and one day you'll change your mind, and then the dragon's heart will be mine, freely given by its bearer. Until then, back to your miserable captivity with Katla."
"Like a bird on a tether," Myrkjartan remarked dryly. "She can fly around where she wants, until you begin to pull on the string."
Ingvold stamped her foot. "Someday I'll find a way to escape from your tether, Hjordis, and I'll return to Snowfell and tell King Elbegast about Dyrstyggr, even if the cure kills me."
"And she would, too, the little cur," Myrkjartan growled. "I think a dungeon would be a better place to reform her character, rather than letting her run loose in the Scipling realm."
Hjordis waved her hand contemptuously. "The Rhbus would regard a dungeon as infringing on the girl's free will."
Myrkjartan rose from his seat with an impatient lashing of his cloak to move it out of his way. "Get rid of her, Hjordis, and let's go back to Hagsbarrow. That idiot Skarnhrafn will get into the blackest trouble if he's not watched closely. I hope you won't trouble me again with the observation of your inept tactics for obtaining Thjodmar's heart."
"You can go," Hjordis said to the girl. "Until the next full moon, when I send for you. I hope you'll do some reconsidering, Ingvold. I doubt very much you want to continue your life among uncivilized and ignorant Sciplings."
Ingvold replied over her shoulder, "I prefer them to you, Hjordis. The smell of mutton fat and fish is far more pleasant than the smell of evil." She dived through the doors as she ended her speech, tripping over Brak, who was still crouching there, too shaky with fear to scuttle out of her way.
"You!" Ingvold cried in amazement, seizing him and dragging him out into the darkness. In the next moment the doors slammed shut with a crash, and they heard the sound of a heavy bar falling into place. "You followed me, you fool! How could youЧhow dare you?"
She gave him several shakes, which did nothing to restore the strength of his wobbly legs, and pushed him as rapidly as he could go toward the horses.
"I thought I was following Pehr," Brak replied. "Where is he, and by the way, where is this place? WhoЧ"
"Never mind all that. If you're lucky, you'll never find out. There's no time for explaining, except to say that your friend Pehr is alive, if not too well, and he'll certainly be much worse if we don't get out of here as quickly as we can. Get up on this horse, not your old nag, or we'll be trapped. Dawn's not far off. Come on, poor beast, you're almost spent, but we'll take care of you as soon as we get back to Katla's barn. I swear we will. I promise you, Pehr will be all right, or I'llЧ Come on, come on, we've got to go!"
She was astride the tall horse and pulling Brak up protestingly behind her. The horse wheeled around and set off at a lunging gallop for the far end of the tunnel.
"But what about Faxi?" Brak began, holding onto Ing-void for dear life and limb, scrabbling for a seat on the saddleless back of the horse.
"We'll have to leave him. I'm sorry," Ingvold said over one shoulder as Faxi raised an indignant whinny. "See what happens when you go poking your nose into other people's business? Grief is all I ever cause anyone. How many times do you think I've destroyed innocent people such as you and Pehr? It's enough to make me wish I were dead, but even that wonderful privilege escapes me. I wish I'd never been born, and I wish I had the power to curse and damn Myrkjartan back to the bogs he sprang from. With my own hands I'd drive the stake through his evil heart. As for Hjordis, curse her greedy heart, I'd command lightning to strike her dead!"
The horse was racing at top speed, and Brak kept his eyes shut, not liking to think what would happen if he fell off at such a careering speed. His gentle old Faxi seldom exerted himself beyond a sedate canter, and that suited Brak and Faxi exactly.
By the time they reached the stairs up to the outside, the horse was wet with sweat and its breathing was harsh and loud. If the tunnel had seemed long before, it was almost interminable to Brak on the return trip, expecting as he was to go flying into midair at any moment, to be left behind to whatever awful fate befell those who were trapped in the mysterious tunnel after dawn.
"Hang on tight!" Ingvold warned him, and the horse went lurching up the stairs, slipping and falling to its knees more than once. With a leap and a scramble, they were out of the tunnel and into the crisp night air of the barrows. The eastern sky was dawning pink, and Brak could clearly see Katla's house crouching secretively beside a black scarp, screened by several tattered, stunted trees. It was a walk of several miles; the horse was stumbling, almost reeling with exhaustion.
"I fear you've misused your horse shamefully," Brak said, venturing a mild reproach after they had dismounted to look at the unfortunate animal.
Ingvold sat on a rock, her face hidden in her crossed arms. In a moment she raised her head to look at Brak. Her sharp little face and hunted eyes reminded Brak even more of a scruffy vixen trapped in her den.
"At least we made it out of the tunnel," she said. "That should satisfy you, if you only knew what we had missed so narrowly." She nodded to the hillside they had just come out of; to Brak's astonishment, the doorway was gone entirely. Nothing remained but the grassy side of the barrow, which hadn't been disturbed in centuries. "No questions," she added as he opened his mouth to speak. "The less you know, the safer you'll be. But as to the horse, I didn't abuse him deliberately. It's a cruel trick of Hjordis' to call and call without telling me where to meet her, until the poor creature I'm riding is nearly dead. Some have died, but if we can get to Katla's barn, we'll save this one. Come on, poor fellow, there's a nice, warm stable waiting for you, if you don't fall down on the spot and die. Then I fear it would be crows and foxes for you. Easy, now, come along. His feet and legs will be in terrible condition, I fear. We've got to hurry, or we'll not make it. If we have to carry himЧ"
"Carry a horse? How could weЧ" Brak began. Then he changed the subject. "I wish you'd explain to me what has happened here, and where I can find Pehr. Is he still down in that awful tunnel place?"
"No, no, you fool. He'sЧwell, I can't tell you that right now. Are you as educated and clever as your chieftain Pehr?"
"No, indeed, I'm only a thrall, although we've grown up together like brothers, almost. I fear I'm quite superstitious, as we thralls usually are from lack of education." He sighed in mortification and looked at her. "But you seem different, in spite of your poor appearance, almost as if you'reЧ you'reЧ" He paused to frown and think suddenly, wondering what it was about her that didn't seem quite right and proper in a lowly kitchen maid.
"What about me?" she demanded haughtily. "You'd better explain."
"You're more like aЧwell, a chieftain's daughter, or somebody who knows she's important. You're not humbled. Now, you may laugh and say I'm crazy, which is no less than I deserve, I suppose." He looked at her sideways, anxiously, to see if she was getting ready to laugh or say something unkind. Instead, she smiled. Her fear and worry lines vanished, and Brak blushed to realize how pretty she actually was when her face wasn't pinched up by unfortunate circumstances. She touched his arm briefly, and Brak felt as if she had warmed all the dark and fearful spots in his heart.
"Thank you for thinking I'm more noble than I really am," she said, "but you and I are sharers in the great misfortune of our lowly stations in life. For you, it's lucky you're not skeptical, as your chieftain is, who was teasing you for being such a coward. I assure you, you're not being cowardly at all in fearing Katla's house. If you could but know the truth, no one would dare laugh at you."
Brak sighed. "I can't imagine that. Pehr makes great sport of my beliefs. But why can't you tell me the truth? I want to know about this curse, and who Hjordis and Myrkjartan are. What is this awful broil you're in? Why do they call you Ingvold, when Katla calls you Grima?"
"My name is Ingvold, but you mustn't call me that in Katla's hearing. She'll know you were listening where you had no business or she'll think I told you, and that would cause you trouble. No, I can't tell you anything about it. After tomorrow we'll never see each other again, and that's the best way for you." She tugged at the weary horse's bridle to urge him along a little faster.
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