"Denning, Troy - Forgotten Realms - Darkwell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Denning Troy)

The black surface of the heart touched the white stone of Genna's breast. Yellow smoke hissed at contact, and trickles of clear liquid ran down the statue's stony robe. Where the stone was wet, it became a bright red, like freshly spilled blood.
Hobarth stared into the statue's eyes, and he saw the defiance that had been etched there begin to fade. He pressed his hand against her and was gratified to feel the Heart of Kazgoroth sink into the stone. More smoke spewed, nearly
2O
DARKWELL
blinding him, but he kept his gaze fastened upon the statue's eyes.
His own eyes watered. The statue grew soft, and Hobarth's hand, together with the black stone, passed directly into the cold body. Quickly he drew forth his hand, empty, and the surface of the statue closed behind it. He looked again into those stone eyes.
Only it was no longer a statue, and the eyes burned with a far from stonelike fire.
The low green mass of Corwell loomed to starboard. To port, invisible in the gray haze of sea-miles, lay the island of Moray. And below the keel of the sleek longship rolled the gray swells of the Strait of the Leviathan.
But Grunnarch the Red knew that the Leviathan was dead. Had not the Red King played a role in its demise only a short year earlier? He found the memory vaguely disquieting.
Now the ruler of the northmen stood boldly on the deck of his ship, the Northwind, and stared into the distance. Not north, toward Norland and home, but east, toward Corwell.
Why did that land hold such fascination for him? The Red King himself did not know, though certainly the roots of the answer lay in the disastrous invasion and his army's subsequent defeat. Grunnarch had been fortunate to escape with half of his ships and men, while many of his allies had suffered worse. The men of Oman's Isle, of the kingdom of Ironhand, had been virtually annihilated.
Now the Northwind, accompanied by the slightly smaller longship Red/in, sailed past that land after a long summer of raiding shores far from the Moonshaes. In less than a week, they would be home, but even the prospective homecoming could not lighten the Red King's brooding sense of foreboding.
True, the raiding had been highly successful. They had sailed south along the Sword Coast, plundering the towns of Amn, and even northern Calimshan. The Northwind rode low in the water from the weight of silver stowed along her
21
DOUGLAS NILES
keel, together with golden chalices, mirrors, fine tapestries and silks, and all manner of things treasured in the Moon-shaes.
And there was the scroll. Grunnarch wondered why that lone treasure, scribed in a symbology he could not read, should figure so prominently in his thoughts about the trove.
The lord mayor of Lodi stood before him, outlined by the blazing framework of his blockhouse. The man met his gaze without fear, but Grunnarch could see defeat in his eyes. The Red King, his bloody axe in his hands, watched the mayor with interest.
"I offer you our greatest treasure. In return, I ask only that you spare the children."
Grunnarch took the ivory tube, surprised at its lightness. He had expected the container to hold platinum, or at least gold, in quantity. Curious, he pulled the cap off and saw that it held but four small sheets of parchment.
"Treasure?" he said menacingly. "This is worthless!"
But the mayor did not flinch. "Ttbu are wrong. You have probably never held such worth in your hands!"
Grunnarch paused. The man's plea meant littleЧ northmen did not slay children, so the town's youth had never been in danger. Truly the Red King had no use for a scroll. Vet, as he held it, he began to sense that it was indeed an object of rare worth.
A strange feeling came over him as he examined the exterior of the scroll case. He saw a picture of a beautiful young woman, sensual and rounded, and yet his reaction was a wish to protect her. Other picturesЧa vast field of grain, a smooth lake, and a cozy fire in a hearth of stoneЧall beckoned him with sensations of warmth and comfort.
Disquieted, he took the scrolls gruffly. He turned on his heel and ordered his surprised crews back to their vessels, leaving Lodi almost unscathed. They took no other plunder but instead put straight to sea under the harsh urging of the Red King.
And so came the scrolls with him to the Moonshaes.
This season of plunder had dragged on for Grunnarch,
22
DARKWELL
for he lacked the fiery battle lust that had once made him relish the strike of steel against steel, the striving of man against man. Now battle was merely another tiresome task that faced him all too often.
After the raid on Lodi, the Red King had lost heart for battle altogether. Rationalizing that the season was late, he had ordered the two ships homeward, ignoring the surprised reactions of his crew. After two weeks upon the Trackless Sea, they had returned once again to the Moonshaes. Now they slipped between two kingdoms of the Ffolk, headed toward his own lands to the north.
And still that feeling of foreboding remained with him, perched upon his broad shoulders like some unnatural apparition.
A great brown bear shuffled across the dead land, pausing to turn over a log with his broad forepaw or to snuffle under a stump with his nose. Once again, the spoor of even a tiny maggot or grub eluded him. Grunt huffed in frustration, too weak to take even a halfhearted swing at the offending stump.
There was no food here.
Grunt stumbled on, sensing that to stop was to die. Long gashes covered his shaggy flanks, now crusted with dried blood. One of the cuts lay freshly opened, a victim of some scrape against a looming trunk.
Even in the depths of his fatigue, Grunt moved with pride and purpose. His head held high, his posture was a challenge to any lesser creature that might cross his path. But his footsteps were unsteady, and the great brown eyes grew dull. There were no creatures to cross his path and behold his prideful agony.
This was land Grunt had known all of his life, yet he did not know it now. The grove of his mistress, Genna Moon-singer, the Great Druid of the isle, now festered and decayed. Many were the animals that had lived here, amid a lush blanket of greenery. Now there was no creature. Now there was nothing green.
DOUGLAS MILES
Grunt growled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. He blinked, peering around as if trying to clear the nightmare vision from his eyes. Then he lumbered on, resolutely plodding across the wasteland in search of food or water.
Suddenly the bear Kited his great head and froze. His only motion was the twitching of his broad nostrils as they searched the air. Whatever it was, a scent excited the bear like nothing else in many days.
Grunt started forward faster now, breaking into a clumsy trot. He uttered one coughlike grunt, then another. Before him lay the former heart of the grove. Recendy the bear had somehow sensed that this was the center of its corruption and had thus avoided it. But even the suspicion of the exciting spoor in the wind was enough to compel him there.
Genna? Hope swelled within the bear's breast. Was that not his mistress, standing there in the distance, staring at him? He sniffed at the air, lumbering closer. The scent was that of the Great Druid, he thought, but somehow different.
Blinking in confusion, Grunt struggled to focus his dim eyesight. He saw the short, rounded body, recognized the gray hair pulled tightly back from the face. He saw no smile upon that face, and the human's posture seemed stiff and unnatural.
Yet his eyes could not be wrong. He slowed as he reached the woman and grunted happily, leaning into her expectantly. The bear was surprised when she did not scratch his ears. What was wrong? Grunt looked at the round, wrinkled face curiously.
And in an instant, he recoiled in fear. Cringing low, the bear looked up at her like a whipped puppy, puzzled and pained by the look in her eyes.
She raised her arm, pointing, and Grunt obeyed. His huge body moved toward the black water, where once the crystalline Moonwell had reflected the blessing of the goddess. Quivering, he approached the water.
The bear turned once to look back at his mistress, his eyes pleading. She pointed again, and he dropped his head obediently. His muzzle touched the surface of the Darkwell. And then his life was gone as he gave it, unwittingly, to Bhaal.
24
DARKWELL
Chauntea, as a goddess, was close in spirit to the Earthmother, though far removed in aspect. While the great mother's life lay in the earth itself, in the hallowed ground of the Moonshaes, Chauntea's being dwelled upon the joyous plane of Elysium, far removed from the worldof mortals.