"Bradley,.Marion.Zimmer.-.Darkover.-.Clingfire.1.-.Fall.Of.Neskaya.(.With.Deborah.J.Ross)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bradley Marion Zimmer)

In his usual terse phrases, Rafe outlined their situation. Their assets included the contents of the saddlebags, two lame pack animals, plenty of water, and the fact that neither of them was seriously injured. The worst of the storm had clearly passed, although snow remained a danger. On the other hand, they could not follow their planned route. The only alternate involved even rougher territory with limited supplies and uncertain weather. But even worse, it would take them through lands belonging to the Storns of High Kinnally.
Coryn talked as they began pulling the blankets and saddlebags from the shelter. "When things were so bad last night, I-I don't know, I called out for help. And someone answered."
"Laddie, it was a rough night to put visions in any man's mind. You screamin' about fires everywhere-and the old wizard's medicine only made you wilder."
"But it wasn't-" No, better keep quiet about what he'd done. And why.
"But Holy St. Christopher, Bearer of Burdens, he answered our prayers," Rafe added in the low voice of a man who has witnessed a miracle.
It was useless to discuss the matter any further.
They loaded the animals and made their way back the way they had come. The horse favored its injured leg, but they could not leave it behind.
As morning wore on into midafternoon, the sky hazed over again, obscuring the huge red sun. Several times, as they entered a sparsely wooded area where fire had raced through the underbrush some years before, Rafe climbed the tallest trees to take his bearings. Coryn's father told stories of men gifted with the sense of always knowing where they were, but whether this was common sense and experience or some minor form of laran, he never said. Whatever skill or

talent Rafe possessed, he looked satisfied as he descended from his last climb.
"With luck, we'll stay clear of the boundary," he said, meaning the edge of High Kinnally territory. "Not that would make any difference to the Storn devils, should they find us out here." His hand moved toward the long-knife strapped to his thigh.
"Well, if they have any sense, they're home right now, warm and dry." Coryn struggled to suppress another shiver. They'd been coming more frequently all morning, even as the day grew warmer. He was not cold enough to shiver, and he knew it. It was better that Rafe believe he was all right, that the prayers had worked.
Over the next few days, the countryside remained rugged and their speed uneven. Rafe stopped a number of times to dig up edible roots, the wild ancestors of Midwinter vegetables, and to trap small game. The rabbit-horns were smaller here than near Verdanta, but more easily snared.
Coryn sat in front of the fire, knees drawn up against his chest, chin resting on his folded arms. He would rather be curled up in the darkness of the lean-to shelter, trying to ignore the nausea which had grown more intense with the smell of roasting meat. He was shivering again, visibly this time, so Rafe ordered him to warm himself by the fire.
Before his eyes, the flames danced and flickered. At least, they were honest yellow and orange, with only a tinge of blue at the very base. But when he looked away, into the dark of the night, past the little meadow where they'd camped and the thin, poor forest beyond, the world shifted uneasily.
Coryn set his teeth together and forced himself to breathe

slowly and evenly. He would get through this night. He must. If only he didn't have to eat any of the brown-crisp roasted rabbit-horn, its fat dripping into the fire to send up puffs of smoke.
Rafe, who had been bending over to check the meat for doneness, suddenly and without straightening up whipped his knife from its sheath. Every line in his body tensed with alertness.
"Come out, and give your names!" Rafe called.
"Put down the knife!" came a voice from the dark beyond the circle of firelight. "You're surrounded and outnumbered."
Rafe, still crouched in a fighting stance, called back, "I hear only one. Who are you? What do you want?"
From another direction came a second voice, and then a third." 'Tis you who should explain yourselves, trespassers!"
"Captain, the boy wears the colors of Verdanta!"
"Leynier!" the second voice roared. "Leynier spies!"
A man stepped into the light, tall and grim-faced, holding a drawn sword. His cloak, thrown back from his shoulders for fighting, had borders stitched with the emblem of Storn of High Kinnally. Coryn rose to his feet, keeping his hands well away from his body. The Storn captain's eyes flickered to Coryn and then back to Rafe.
"You cannot win, old man. You may know how to use that knife, but by Aldones, I'll skewer you before you can touch me."
Rafe shifted his stance. The silence deepened. With a flick of the wrist, a small knife appeared in his other hand. A throwing knife. The captain's eyes widened in understanding. His weapon might outreach Rafe's, but he would never get close enough to use it.
"This stalemate can only end in bloodshed," the captain began. "For the boy's sake-"

"Stop this nonsense at once!" A woman's voice rang out in the night. "Both of you!" An instant later, a small, delicately-made woman with an air of unquestionable authority stepped forward. Firelight reddened her gray cloak and touched unruly auburn curls.
The Storn captain lowered his sword, but did not put it away. Rafe remained as he was.
The woman's eyes snapped, and she looked as if she would stamp one foot and scold them all like naughty children. Instead, she spoke calmly. "This boy and his guide are henceforth under my protection. You will not harm them, nor will you," with a look in Rafe's direction that sent Coryn trembling again, "make any threat toward my escort."
"But, Lady-" the Captain protested.
"Is that clear?" She had not raised her voice, yet power rang through her words.
Coryn's knees went powdery. He thought that if he had been holding a knife, he would have dropped it instantly. The Storn man looked about to do just that before he hastily put his sword away. Rafe's weapons disappeared, the long blade back into its sheath, the throwing knife to wherever it had come from.
As the woman moved closer to Coryn, he saw that she was not young. Silver frosted the coppery curls and a filigree of delicate lines bracketed eyes and lips. A half-smile danced around the corners of her mouth.
"Come with me, chiyu. We have much to discuss."
She turned and plunged into the darkness. Coryn followed, his feet unable to do anything else. A few steps beyond the circle of firelight, a ball of white light burst into being over her outstretched hand.
Sorceress!
She turned to smile at him. "Hardly. It isn't magic, what we of the Towers do, as you will soon learn."

"Who are you?" Coryn blurted out, feeling stupid.
"Bronwyn of Tramontana, leronis of the Third Circle."
"Tramontana! That's where I'm going!"
Lady Bronwyn paused, the ball of light flickering over her features. "And who are you, who are destined for the Tower?"
Coryn hesitated. The Storn armsmen already realized he was from Verdanta. If they knew he was Lord Beltran's son, even a third son who would not inherit, they might hold him for ransom or worse.
"Listen to me," the lady said sharply. "I don't care if you're from Verdanta or Valeron or the far side of the Wall Around the World, for that matter. You managed to reach me with your unaided mind. Have you any idea what that means, to be able to do that at your age? Do you think we would let such laran talent run wild? Or didn't you realize what you had done?"
For a moment, he was back in the stony shelter with rain pelting and rocks pummeling the hillside. Blue flames licked at him once more. The smells of blood and fear filled the darkness.