"Brooks, Terry - Jerle Shannara 02 - Antrax" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brooks Terry)

But a shift in the wind was coming, and when it did, it would mark the end of her.

He wheeled on the others, finding them grouped tightly about him, dark visages expectant and eager within shadowed cowls. They awaited his orders, anxious for something to do. He would accommodate them. Members of the company of the Jerle Shannara were loose somewhere ahead within these trees, waiting to be harvested, to be killed or taken prisoner. It was time to accommodate them.

Growling softly, he told his men to start with Ryer Ord Star, then move on.

But when they turned to take charge of the seer, she was nowhere to be found.

THREE

Arms of iron clutched Bek Ohmsford close to a body that smelled vaguely fetid and loamy, of earth and chemicals mixed. The body moved with the swiftness of thought, sliding through trees and brush, shedding layers of itself like skin, shadows that hung dark and empty on the air and then faded away completely. Some exploded into bits of night as the magic of the Ilse Witch caught up to them, but always Bek and his rescuer were one skin ahead.

Then they were beyond the clearing and into the concealing trees, still running hard, but cloaked in shadows and screens of brush and limbs. Bek began to struggle then, frightened suddenly of the unknown, of anything powerful and mysterious enough to challenge the Ilse Witch's magic.

"Be still, boy!" Truls Rohk hissed, giving him a sharp squeeze of warning with those powerful arms, never once slowing his pace.

They ran for a long time, Bek crumpled nearly into a ball in the other's grip, until the clearing and the witch were far behind them. Then they stopped, and the shape-shifter dropped to one knee and released the boy with a nudge of hands and shoulders, letting him roll to the earth in a crumpled heap, there to uncoil and straighten himself again. Bek heard Tails Rohk breathing hard, winded and spent, bent over within his concealing cloak while he waited for his strength to return. Bek climbed to his hands and knees, nerve endings tingling with new life as fresh blood finally reached his cramped limbs. They were in a place grown so thick with trees and brush that the light of moon and stars did not penetrate, where everything was cloaked in deepest silence.

"Keeping you alive is turning into a full-time job," the shape-shifter muttered irritably.

Bek thought of his lost opportunity to persuade the Ilse Witch of who he was. "No one asked you to interfere! I was that close to convincing her! I was just about-"

"You were just about to get yourself killed," the other said with a quick, harsh laugh. "You weren't paying close enough attention to the effect you were having on her, you were so caught up in the righteousness and certainty of your argument. Hah! Convincing her? Couldn't you feel what was happening? She was getting ready to use her magic on you!"

"That's not true!" Bek was suddenly furious. He leapt to his feet in challenge. "You don't know that!"

Now the shape-shifter was really laughing, a low and steady howl that he worked hard to suppress. "Can't afford to laugh as loud as I'd like, boy. Not here. Not this close still." He stood up, confronting the boy. "You listen to me. Your arguments were good. They were sound and they were true. But she wasn't ready for them. She wanted to believe some of it, I think. She might have believed all of it in other circumstances, maybe will after time spent thinking it over. But she wasn't ready for it then and there. Especially not at the end, when you let your own magic get away from you again. Not your fault, I know, that you're still learning. But you have to be aware of your limitations."

Bek stared. "I was using the wishsong?"

"Not consciously, but it was slipping out of you even while you tried to tell her about it." Truls Rohk paused. "When she sensed its presence, she felt threatened. She thought you were about to attack her. Or she just decided it was all too much to deal with and she should put an end to you."

He turned and walked away a few steps, looking back the way they had come. "All quiet for now. But I don't know that it's finished yet." He turned back. "You surprised her, boy, and that's dangerous with someone so powerful. You gave her too much all at once, too much she didn't want to hear, that would impact her in ways she couldn't manage so quickly." He grunted. "It couldn't be helped, I imagine. She appeared and found you. What were you supposed to do?"

Bek stood silently before him, thinking it through. Truls Rohk was right. He had been so caught up in persuading Grianne he was her brother that he had paid almost no attention to what she was doing. It was possible she had not believed him, could not have for that matter, given the suddenness and surprise of it. Just because he believed didn't mean she would. She'd had much longer to live with the lie than he'd had to live with the truth. She was less likely to be swayed as easily.

"Sit down, boy," Truls Rohk said, and moved over to join him. "Time for a few more revelations. You were wrong about how well you were doing convincing your sister of who you were. You're wrong about no one asking me to interfere in your life, as well."

Bek looked at him. "Walker?"

"What I told you before, on Mephitic, was true. I pulled you from the ashes of your parents' home. Aware that your family was in danger, I was keeping watch at the Druid's request. The Morgawr's Mwellrets, shape-shifters of a sort, were prowling about your home in Jentsen Close. You lived not far from the Wolfsktaag, there at a corner of the Rainbow Lake, amid a community of isolated homes occupied mostly by farmers. You were vulnerable, and Walker was looking for a way to keep you safe."

He shook his head within its cowl, his face layered in shadow. "I warned him to act quickly, but he was too slow. Or perhaps he tried, and your father would not listen to him. They talked infrequently and were not close friends. Your father was a scholar and did not believe in violence. In his mind, the Druids represented violence. But violence doesn't care anything about whether or not you believe in it. It comes looking for you regardless. It came for your family just before dawn on a day when I was absent. Mwellrets, there on the orders of the Morgawr. They killed your parents and burned your home to the ground, making it appear as if it were the work of Gnome raiders. They thought you had perished in the blaze, not realizing your sister had hidden you in the cold cellar. They were in a hurry, having taken her, whom the Morgawr coveted most, and so did not search as carefully as I did when I came later. I found you in the cellar, tucked carefully away, crying, hungry, chilled, and frightened. I took you from the ashes and gave you to Walker."

Bek looked away from him, thinking it through. "Why didn't he tell me any of this before he sent me to you with Quentin?"

The other laughed. "Why doesn't he ever tell any of us anything? He told me a boy and his cousin were coming, that I should look for them, that I should test them to see if they had merit and heart." He shook his head. "He left it to me to realize that it was you, the boy I had saved all those years ago. He left it to me to determine what I was meant to do. Do you see?"

Bek shook his head, not entirely certain he did.