"Chalker, Jack L - Rings 1 - Lords Of The Middle Dark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Chalker Jack L)

The climb was dangerous but not difficult, which was all to the best because his
people had little in the way of metals and metalworking, and he had to make do
with rope and balance and sure footing. He had been afraid that he would be
ill-prepared, but the slope was rough and craggy, and with patience and by trial
and error he found a sort of path upward.
He had dressed warmly, with fur-lined clothes made to stand the toughest test
and a hood and face mask to help keep out the terrible cold even at this time of
year. An experienced mountain man, he also knew that the air would grow thinner
as he made his ascent and that he would have to take the climb very slowly to
give himself a chance to become acclimated to the altitude. He could carry only
so much water, but after a while snow would do. It would have to, for his
salt-packed rations caused great thirst and dehydration.
As he grew closer to the great ring of clouds, he began to wonder if in fact any
of the others like him had ever even gotten this far. There were snow slides and
hidden crevasses here, and the problems of weather, acclimation, and provisions
would stop anyone not totally prepared for them and fully experienced in
high-altitude work. The climb was not really difficult, but its relative ease
would fill a novice with confidence and cause him to ignore the many other
threats.
So far it had been like any other mountain that could be climbed without piton
or grappling hook, only taller. It looked neither as regular nor as strange when
one was on it as it did from afar, and he began to wonder if indeed imagination
might have played cruel tricks on the People.
But there was still that swirling mass of thick, impenetrable clouds that should
not have been there, at least not all the time and certainly not at that
altitude. He might doubt his preconceptions, but he did not doubt his resolve.
He would go into those clouds.
Still, he almost didn't make it. Parts of him suffered from frostbite, and it
seemed at times as if his eyes would freeze shut, but he finally made the base
of the clouds. Here he knew he would face the greatest of all the dangers, for
he might wind up moving blind in a freezing, swirling fog. He had always had the
suspicion, now a fear, that the mountain might end right at the clouds and that
he might well step off into space.
The clouds were dense, although not as much as he'd feared, and he had some
visibility, although the wind was up, making every move treacherous. Still,
there was no mistaking the fact that these clouds were nothing of nature; the
air was suddenly relatively warm -- above freezing, anyway -- and he felt the pain of
his frostbitten extremities along with a welcome relief that the fine mist that
soon covered him remained a mist.
There was, however, a curious lack of odor. The clouds were getting their heat
from somewhere, yet there were none of the earth-fumes he would have expected
from a volcanic area. He continued his climb and was shocked to break out of the
clouds only twenty or thirty meters up from their start. It was not the end of
the clouds; really, but rather a break between two layers of cloud, formed by a
trapped mass of warm air. Above him swirled a solid ceiling of clouds. He did
not worry about them, though; the mountain did not extend any farther than a
dozen meters, beyond the end of the lower cloud barrier.
Up here it did at least look like a volcano, one of those great mountains of the
west. The summit was a crater and appeared perfectly round, but it was less than
a hundred meters across. It was as unnatural as were the clouds and the warmth.