"Cherryh,.C.J.-.Morgaine.4.-.1988.-.Exiles.Gate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cherryh C J)

the enemy is too numerous, and his voice is lost in the confusion.
In despair he rallies such of his guard as he can, and turns and drives back the
way he has come, in a world of shades and ghosts.

*

Vision of horses, the gray and the white, hooves descending, slowly, all of time
and existence suspended upon that single motionЧ

*

In the opal dawn, in the mist, arrows fall like black sleet on flesh and steel,
and thunder on wooden shields, finding chinks in the failing defense. Hammer and
hammer again, blow after blow. Horses are down, threshing and screaming,
crushing the wounded and the dead. Men flee afoot, cut down by the sweep of
riders on the perimeters.
There is no more hope. Ichandren has met ambush. The fox has been out-foxed, and
the enemy riders circle, cutting down those few who evade that last sweep.
But most rally around Ichandren, as horses go down, as men fall.
No arrows now. At the last it is swords and a battle afoot, humans against
humans, Ichandren's men against those who have sold their souls to Morund.
"Bron!" Chei ep Kantory cries, seeing his brother fall, his place suddenly
vacant in the defensive circle and Morund crests surging against it. He tries to
gain those few feet, in that desperate knot about Ichandren, to die shielding
his brother, for it is only a question of place now: weight of numbers bows
their slight defense and breaks their shield-ring.
But thunder breaks behind him. Chei turns and lifts his sword, but there are two
of them, helmed and masked, who come thundering toward him across the brook,
throwing a fine spray in the first breaking of the sunlight.

*

Third stride, the gray horse and the white, stately slow, inexorable as fateЧ

*

The solemn procession reaches the killing-ground, the place of execution. They
have walked this far, these last survivors of Gyllin-brook. Ichandren is not
among them. The fox's head stands on a pike outside Morund-gate, his countenance
strangely tranquil after so much he has suffered; and by now the crows will have
claimed the eyes, as the crows and the kites have claimed so many, many others.
Carrion crows rise up here, at this end of all roads, black shapes against a
pale, sickly sun, dull clap of startled wings that recalls the thunder of hooves
on sandЧ
But that day is done, Ichandren is dead, his men have seen him die, and seen the
things done to him, which made his death a mercy.
Now is their own turn. And disturbed birds settle back to the field, one
solitary raven pacing on the roadside in the important way of his kind.
"Halt," lord Gault calls out, Gault ep Mesyrun, but this is not the Gault
Ichandren knew, the brother in arms he once trusted. This is a different