"Gordon R. Dickson - The Last Dream" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

beetle popped itself halfway out of the hole. Its forelimbs waved in the air and a little squeaky voice, like
a cracked phonograph record repeating itself far away over a bad telephone connection, came to JimтАЩs
ears.

тАЬGone to the Loathly Tower! Gone to the Loathly Tower! Gone to the Loathly Tower!тАЭ

It popped back out of sight. Carolinus straightened up and Jim breathed again.

тАЬThe Loathly Tower!тАЭ said Smrgol. тАЬIsnтАЩt that that ruined tower to the west, in the fens, Mage? Why,
thatтАЩs the place that loosed the blight on the mere-dragons five hundred years ago.тАЭ

тАЬItтАЩs a place of old magic,тАЭ said Carolinus, grimly. тАЬThese places are like ancient sores on the land,
scabbed over for a while but always breaking out with new evil whenтАФthe twisting of the Fabric by
these two must have done it. The evilness there has drawn the evil in Anark to itтАФlesser to greater,
according to the laws of nature. IтАЩll meet you two there. Now, I must go set other forces in motion.тАЭ

He began to twirl about. His speed increased rapidly until he was nothing but a blur. Then suddenly, he
faded away like smoke; and was gone, leaving Jim staring at the spot where he had been.

A poke in the side brought Jim back to the ordinary world.

тАЬWake up, boy. DonтАЩt dally!тАЭ the voice of Smrgol bellowed in his ear. тАЬWe got flying to do. Come on!тАЭ

==========

II

The old dragonтАЩs spirit was considerably younger than his body. It turned out to be a four hour flight to
the fens on the west seacoast. For the first hour or so Smrgol flew along energetically enough, meanwhile
tracing out the genealogy of the mere-dragons and their relationship to himself and Gorbash; but gradually
his steady flow of chatter dwindled and became intermittent. He tried to joke about his long-gone battle
with the Ogre of Gormely Keep, but even this was too much and he fell silent with labored breath and
straining wings. After a short but stubborn argument, Jim got him to admit that he would perhaps be
better off taking a short breather and then coming on a little later. Smrgol let out a deep gasping sigh and
dropped away from Jim in weary spirals. Jim saw him glide to an exhausted landing amongst the purple
gorse of the moors below and lie there, sprawled out.

Jim continued on alone. A couple of hours later the moors dropped down a long land-slope to the green
country of the fenland. Jim soared out over its spongy, grass-thick earth, broken into causeways and
islands by the blue water, which in shallow bays and inlets was itself thick-choked with reeds and tall
marsh grass. Flocks of water fowl rose here and there like eddying smoke from the glassy surface of one
mere and drifted over to settle on another a few hundred yards away. Their cries came faintly to his
dragon-sensitive ears and a line of heavy clouds was piling up against the sunset in the west.

He looked for some sign of the Loathly Tower, but the fenland stretched away to a faint blue line that
was probably the sea, without showing sign of anything not built by nature. Jim was beginning to wonder
uneasily if he had not gotten himself lost when his eye was suddenly caught by the sight of a dragon-shape
nosing at something on one of the little islands amongst the meres.

Anark! he thought. And Angie!