"Boyer, Elizabeth - Thrall And The Dragon's Heart" - читать интересную книгу автора (Boyer Elizabeth)
They rode hard after leaving Hrappsrivercrossing, stopping only to rest by the road that led to Thingvellier. When they left the familiar road and headed eastward into the little-known interior, their lighthearted chatter fell into long silences. Not many roads existed on Skarpsey, and homesteads were far and fewЧand sometimes unluckily temporaryЧso a map was almost useless. They knew that a road taking them eastward had a tolerable chance of depositing them somewhere near Vapnaford. After Vapnaford, the only known settlement was Hafthorrsstead, provided that the inhabitants had not starved to death during the winter, frozen from lack of firewood, or simply lost heart and given up the struggle to force a living from the harsh soil. After Hafthorrsstead, a barrier of lava flows, steaming mountains, and glaciers signified the end of Sciplings' land and the beginning of fog-shrouded mystery.
Just before sundown they arrived at the end of the road, which accommodated a small turf farmhouse nestled against the side of a green fell with hay tuns rolling out before it. Brak thought he might not see another house so homelike and familiar, so he looked around appreciatively. They were invited in cordially, as was the custom in a land where travelers were few. The farmer, Breiskaldi, immediately sent one of his sons to a neighboring house just over the fell where his brother Grim was settled, so that any news and festivities would be shared by as many as possible. Soon it was a jolly gathering, since Grim and Breiskaldi and their wives were from the same Quarter as Thorstensstead, and everyone knew the same people. Hardly anyone noticed the wind rising outside, until Pehr suggested that the livestock had better be secured.
Scarcely had the menfolks returned to the warmth and light of the hall when a loud knock sounded at the door. Brak hadn't quite recovered from the experience of groping around in the musty gloom with one eye on the sky for Myrkriddir, so he gave a noticeable start and muffled a gasp. Pehr turned pale, his eyes fastened on the door as Breiskaldi rose to open it, not suspecting the slightest evil.
A familiar-looking gray beard and old-fashioned cloak swirled in the wind as the visitor entered, accompanied by the tapping of a staff upon the floorboards.
Chapter 4
"A beastly night out there," the visitor announced. Half a dozen children swooped at the old man with cries of delight, hanging themselves around his neck and prying into his many pockets.
Brak sighed noisily and squeezed his knees to stop their shaking. The old grandfather, with his tall staff and ancient cloak weathered green around the shoulders, would never know what a fright he had given the two visitors.
The grandfather disengaged his cloak from several small children and hung it to dry beside the hearth. He darted a conspiratorial glance around at his grandchildren and said, "Just as I was approaching the house, I would swear I saw the Myrkriddir flying over the roof beam. But I shan't tell people about it because they might be too frightened."
Brak and Pehr exchanged an uneasy glance. The children began to pester their grandfather for a suitably blood-chilling story, and he obligingly began to stuff his pipe with calculated leisure, while his daughter-in-law scolded good-naturedly. "Myrkriddir, indeed! Father, you're too much alone in that old hut up there on the fell."
"But I had a visitor just today," the grandfather declared, his eyes sparkling merrily. "A young lady stopped at my house, asking the way to Gnupa's pass. Her gown and old gray cloak were scarcely better than rags and her shoes were worn right out, but I had the feeling she was quality folks, in spite of her appearance. I wondered at the time if she might be from that other side, where the elves and dwarves live."
"Oh, Granddad!" the elder sons muttered shyly, looking at Pehr and his weapons and self-importance, not to mention his own thrall as represented by the bulky and mild-tempered BrakЧboth of whom weren't that much older than they, but were on a journey of man-sized importance from the coastlands. The young Breiskaldissons had no desire to appear like uneducated rustics.
"Young skeptics," Granddad retorted. "I've believed in magic all my life, and to this day I've never seen any evidence to the contrary. I don't suppose it's fashionable in the settlements to believe in magic, is it, my young, adventuring friends?"
"No, it's not," Pehr replied.
But Brak responded instantly, "Oh, yes, we both believe in magic and the people who work it, and we'd love to hear more about this girl who came to your house. What did she look like? Did she say where she was going beyond Gnupa's pass?"
"She was a very slight creature with pale hair tied up under a kerchief," the old man said, after drawing thoughtfully on his pipe for a moment. "She said little about her destination, except that she was traveling to visit her aunt who lives near Hafthorrsstead."
"The very place we are going to," Pehr murmured. "We shall watch for her, perhaps."
When Pehr spoke about going to Hafthorrsstead, the old man looked at him rather strangely. "Have you been to. Hafthorrsstead before?" he asked. "It's a place that is somewhatЧpeculiar."
"Dangerous?" Brak asked quickly.
"No, no, just a bitЧwell, I suppose it might be dangerous. I'm far too old to make the journey there, so I can't really say."
"Then it must be something magical," one of the children said, and everyone looked at the two travelers in wonder.
Breiskaldi stirred uncomfortably. "It will take magic to harvest our hay if this wind doesn't stop." The talk turned to sheep, potatoes, and inclement weather, which was to be expected on Skarpsey.
Brak heard scarcely a word. Ingvold had stopped at the old man's house on a fell somewhere nearby. He hitched himself closer to the grandfather. When the talk lulled, he asked, "Is Gnupa's pass the quickest way to Hafthorrsstead? We had thought to go by way of Vapnaford, but if there is a shortcut, we'd like to hear about it.".
The children began pestering him for some Myrkriddir stories, so he obliged them in terrifying detail. Brak slipped away from the storytelling to listen to the adults talking of crops, harvest, and trading, and he pretended to listen until he almost fell off his chair, half asleep. That was the real signal to pack the children off to bed and say good night to Grim and his family. The grandfather stubbornly insisted on sharing the hired man's tiny, smoky hut that night, since it reminded him of his own house and was not as large and apt to creak and groan as Breiskaldi's house. Brak and Pehr were soon left with the floor beside the hearth to themselves, where they lay in the ruddy light, listening to the roar of the wind and the creaking of the roof timbers.
Pehr had a small, inadequate map which he was studying and scowling at. "Gnupa's pass doesn't even show on my map. I hope we can find it. Wouldn't it be delightful to leave Myrkjartan at Vapnaford with his teeth in his mouth while we overtake Ingvold at Hafthorrsstead? I wonder why he wanted to meet with usЧto offer us gold, perhaps, if we'd stay out of his way?"
"I don't think gold is what he'd offer. Probably that shriveled fellow in the sack is what happens to people who try to interfere with Myrkjartan's plans." Brak shivered as the wind thundered outside. "And another thingЧI doubt if we can fool him for long with those Myrkriddir following us."
"Oh, tush, it's just the wind, Brak. What an imaginative coward you are sometimes." He soon forsook Brak to his imaginings and went to sleep far more comfortably than did Brak, who awakened at the roars and creaks occasioned by the wind to wonder what difficulties this venture held.
In the morning Pehr extracted more directions from the grandfather, promising to visit his house on the fell on their return journey. The old man only shook his head and muttered half to himself something about those who made their way to Hafthorrsstead seldom returning. Brak wanted to ask him what he meant, but Pehr impatiently mounted his horse and urged Brak to hurry. They rode swiftly into the fells and soon found the place where the old man's path curved upward and a dim old track continued deeper into the fells. Gnupa's pass soon became little more than a gloomy crack through the fierce defile of the mountains. Icy, clear cascades poured into their ravine from the glaciers above. A narrow, damp path twisted among the mossy rocks and scrubby trees that took advantage of the shelter of the gorge, and the horses' hooves left deep tracks behind them. Often Brak spied the faint mark of a small heelprint in the dark earth, so he watched ahead alertly, certain he was going to see Ingvold's tattered gray cloak at any instant.
By the end of the day he was disappointed and worried. The way steepened and became more rocky, so he could no longer see Ingvold's footprints. The weather turned misty and wet, soaking gradually through their clothing and making them shiver. They found an old hut which must have been Gnupa's, but it looked as if the old hermit had died or gone away a long time ago. The hut was cold and damp and in poor repair. The sunlight vanished hours early into twilight. They stabled the horses in half the hutЧa habit which Gnupa must have practiced also, since a bit of old hay still remained in the smoothly worn mangerЧand built a fire in the other side to drive away the dark and cold. The rain pattered softly on the mossy roof without a trace of wind to suggest Myrkriddir, and Brak began to feel quite cheerful to think of them howling around Vapnaford while he and Pehr were high in the mountains.
"Shh!'' Pehr suddenly sputtered around a huge bite of fresh bread. He pointed to the door, swallowed, and whispered, "Someone's out there. I thought I heard the latch stir just a bit. You'd better go out and see who it is."
Brak's heart stopped cold. He crept to the door and extended one bloodless hand to open it a cautious crack. The door lurched inward as if pushed, and Brak leaped back with a muffled screech of horror. Something fell across the threshold almost at his feet, something dreadfully similar to a dead body. Pehr began shouting, but Brak had closed his ears and eyes to the terror of it and could only stare at the creature sprawling so wretchedly at his feet.
Pehr hobbled across the tiny room and hauled the body inside and slammed the door. "What a nithling you are, Brak! Leaving the door open for anybody to see the light! Now let's see what we've got here."
Brak shuddered. "Some unlucky beggar has died right at our door. It must be a warning." With great reluctance, he looked on as Pehr unwrapped the rags and shawls the poor fellow was dressed in.
"Wet through," Pehr said, "and it's cold out there. He's nearly frozen to death. We'll let him thaw a while beside the fire and see if he's alive or dead."
Brak unwillingly helped loosen the last shawl around the beggar's head and face, uncovering a face as white and unresponsive as marble. "Pehr!" he gasped. "It's Ingvold! She's not dead, is she?"
"It would spare us a lot of trouble if she were," Pehr said. "I think we've gone somewhat beyond our usual style in mischief this time, Brak. Now that we've found her, what shall we do with her? If we try to take her back with us, Myrkjartan will find her again. She's still a hag, you recall, and that's bound to be inconvenient sooner or later."
"We'll take her to the aunt she mentionedЧif she wasn't making that up. She ought to be safe there."
"Then it ought to be a safe place for us, too," Pehr said. "I only hope it doesn't take longer than Thorsten will be gone to settle this business. The old fire-breather will be mad enough as it is."
"I could go on alone, since I'm nobody important," Brak suggested.
"And leave you to do all the boasting? Never!"
Brak watched Ingvold anxiously through the night, long after Pehr had succumbed to sleep. Ingvold showed no signs of life. Solicitously, Brak dried her wet clothing and shoes, giving her his own eider for warmth. She was wetter than the sprinkling of rain merited, but her clothing was poor and worn out and was certainly no match for the tightly woven oily wool of Brak's and Pehr's cloaks. Brak was relieved to see her breathing slightly but steadily, and rejoiced in the coincidence that had placed him and Pehr in the hermit's hut before her, or she might have died during the cold and wet night in an empty ruin.
Near dawn he fell asleep, awakening with a jolt when sunlight suddenly flashed across his eyes. The door was open, and Ingvold was poised for flight on the threshold with her meager bundle in hand. Brak leaped up and raced after her as she darted away.
"Ingvold! Wait! We've been trying to find you for days! You'll never make it alone and with so little, and Myrkjartan has marked us anyway, so you may as well wait a moment for us to go with you."
She halted and turned. "Then I've already brought your doom upon you, if Myrkjartan has discovered you followed me. All I can do now is lead him away from you and hope he'll content himself with my death. A pinnacle or a crevice, somewhere steep so I can throw myself down. If you hadn't saved me last night, that would have been the end of it all." She shook her head wearily and leaned against the hut as if her knees were still weak.
"A plague on that kind of talk," Brak said indignantly. "I think you'd better have some breakfast and rest until you feel stronger. Then we shall all go and see your aunt near Hafthorrsstead."
Ingvold looked startled, then she smiled. "How did you find out about my aunt? Was it from the old man who lives alone on the fell? I fear I didn't fool him much. He has clear sight into the Alfar realm, I'd wager. Did you mention breakfast a moment ago, by the way?"
Brak gladly began putting together a wonderfully incongruent breakfast for her of cold soup, dried fish, and some strong spirits from a flask. He slapped the dried fish on a slab of bread, garnished generously with brown drippings of fat. "There, now, I hope that will last you until midday, when we can stop and eat something more substantial. I think this would be a good time to make some plans so we'll know whether to ration our food, or whether or not to reprovision as soon as we can. Pehr has a fair amount of gold, and I've got a bit, so I believe we can manage for a while, depending upon how long a journey we must make. We have two horses, and Pehr has an excellent sword besides several knives. You need better clothes if we're to make a long journey, and another horse would be welcomeЧ"
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