"TerranceDicks-DoctorWho-StateOfDecay" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dicks Terence)

11 The Traitor
12 Attack on the Tower
13 The Arising
14 Departure



01 The Selection

Looming above the Village was the dark Tower. Its pointed turrets reared up against the night sky, dominating the landscape as they had done for a thousand years. The simple village dwellings huddled about its base. Beyond the Village was a scattering of ploughed fields, bordered on one side by dense forests, on the other by swamp.

There were no lights in the Village, no movement in its unpaved streets. All was silent. Only one building gave out a few chinks of light from its shuttered windowsthe long, low village hall, known as the Centre, where the villagers gathered for their communal meals. There were lights in the Tower, too. Those who dwelt there kept late hours, and were seldom seen in daylight.

Day and night, the approaches to the Tower were patrolled by guards, grim-faced men clad in black-leather jerkins, studded with steel. They carried pikes and swords and wore daggers at their belts. A few of them, the senior and most trusted, carried heavy blasters in worn holsters at their belts.

One of them was Habris, Captain of the Guard. Lean and grim-faced like his fellows, he marched along the gloomy corridors of the Tower with reluctant haste. The haste was because he was on the business of the Lords, and dared not delay. The reluctance was because, as always, to enter the presence of his rulers made Habris sweat with fear.

He paused outside the great State Room, scowling at the door guards, who sprang to attention.

What was it about the Lords, he wondered, that filled him with such unreasoning terror? They were cold and distant, but no more so than to be expected of those in such a high position. They were swift to punish those who failed them, but they valued good service, and Habris knew he stood high in their favour. It wasn't so much any quality they possessed, decided Habris, it was something they lacked. There was a sense of something remote and alien about them. It was the way they looked at you, as if you were a member of some different, inferior species, whose concerns were of no real interest to them.

It was as though they weren't quite human.

Habris became aware that the door guards were standing rigidly to attention, their faces filled with terror, assuming no doubt that his scowl was for them. Consoling himself with the thought that they feared him just as much as he feared the Lords, Habris braced himself and marched into the state Room.

Lord Zargo and Lady Camilla were sitting on their twin thrones. Between them stood Aukon, their Councillor. The three Lords were talking in low voices. They broke off and looked up when Habris entered.

He marched up to the dais and bowed low. 'It is the Time of Selection, my Lord.'

Zargo leaned forward, black eyes glittering in the pale, bearded face. 'Choose well, Habris. Let them be young and strong, filled with life.'

'It is spirit, not flesh, that the Great One prizes,' said Aukon. There was reproof in his voice. Habris thought no one but Aukon would dare take such a tone with Lord Zargo.

Lady Camilla's eyes, too, shone with feverish excitement. 'Yet flesh and blood has its place, Aukon.'

'I still look in vain for the first of the Chosen Ones. The Great One will need new servants at the Time of Arising. Remember that, Habris.'

'Yes, Lord Aukon.'

Habris bowed, and left the State Room, relieved to be on his way.



In the Centre, the villagers were gathered, waiting. As always, at the Time of Selection, there was a kind of subdued tension in the air. All those of Selection age were assembled in the hall, and Ivo, the burly Village headman, moved among them, pausing here and there to tap a young man or a young woman on the shoulder, ignoring the looks of mute appeal from their anguished parents.

Those he tapped moved to the centre of the hall, where they formed a long straggling line. They stood there, heads bowed, waiting apathetically.

The far end of the hall formed a kind of kitchen area and Karl, Ivo's son, was standing there with his mother, Marta. He was bigger and stronger than any of the young men in the room, and Marta looked fondly at him. He would be as big as his father some day - if he lived.

Suddenly, to her horror, Karl moved away from her side and went to join the other young people in the centre of the room.