"Kerr, Katharine - Westlands 02 - A Time Of War v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

СOh by the blessed name of every god,Т Meer whispered. СDo you smell that?Т
СI canТt. What?Т
СCount your human weakness a blessing, then. ItТs the smell of death, much death, death under a hot sun.Т
Jahdo felt his stomach clench.
СLetТs go back a-ways and leave the horse and mule behind. Jahdo, forgive me. If I could go on alone and spare you whatТs sure to lie ahead, I would, because youТre not a Gel daТThae colt, raised to this sort of thing, but without you, how can I tell if my brother lies there or not?Т
СWell, true spoken. IТll try to help.Т
They retraced their steps a-ways and found a good campsite near the river, then unloaded and tethered the animals. Meer had Jahdo find pieces of old rag, soak them in water, and tie them round their noses and mouths before they set out again. As they walked, Meer prayed, a low rise and fall of despair.
First the sound of the birds, and all too soon the stupefyingly foul smell of rotting flesh, led them down the grassy bank, then east of the river for some hundred feet. The land there rolled back rising from the river to a high wooded knoll that climbed like a grave-mound behind the carnage. For a long time Jahdo could only stare at what he saw; every time he tried to speak he gagged from the smell. The air bludgeoned him, even through his pitiful mask; it shoved a dirty fist down his throat; it wrenched at his stomach with filthy fingers. Yet he was too horrified to vomit, which was perhaps the worst thing of all. I have to go through with this, he told himself over and over. What if it were Kiel lying dead there? How would I feel then? IТve got to be MeerТs eyes. At last he convinced himself into courage, and he could speak.
СMeer, thereТs a flat space, like, and itТs all covered with dead men. TheyТre not buried or anything. They do just lie there, and they be all puffy. And the birds do crawl all over them like ants. The birds keep fighting with each other, and thatТs why they keep squalling and flying.Т
СIndeed.Т MeerТs voice was very thin but steady. СHow many men?Т
СOh, Jots and lots. TheyТre all human beings. Off to the north thereТs an overturned wagon. It be all broken, and thereТs someone really tall lying by it.Т
СI hate to ask you this, lad, but can you bear to lead me there?Т
СIТll try.Т
Fortunately they could skirt the edge of the battlefield rather than walk across it, but even so, Jahdo was caught by the horror and found himself staring at the corpses. He would never forget that sight, not as long as he lived, of bodies heaped and tumbled like firewood, broken, slashed, tangled, left there for wild things in a last gesture of contempt. Whenever the singers back in Cerr Cawnen had told lurid tales of battlefields, theyТd always spoken of red blood and deathly silence. Here all the bodies lay grey and swollen, streaked with the black of dried blood or the dull maroon colour of torn fiesh where the birds were feeding. The field itself pulsed with life and noise as ants swarmed, ravens screamed and chattered, broke to fly only to circle and settle again, while under it all sounded the vast drone of thousands of flies.
СI think they were killed with swords. There lie hoof-prints all round, too, and a couple of dead horses, but only a couple. Oh wait, hereТs an arrow, just lying here.Т
Although the shaft was broken, the point was mercifully clean. When Jahdo stooped down, he saw the tiny paw-prints of foxes on the horribly moist ground - no doubt they crept up at night to share this banquet. He concentrated on the arrow, picked it up and ran his fingers down the wood.
СIТve never seen an arrow so long. When it were whole it must have been longer than my arm, and the feathers are from some kind of blue bird.Т
СNone of my people would loft a thing like that.Т Meer was whispering. СAh, evil evil evil come upon us!Т
Jahdo wanted to agree, but he didnТt dare risk speaking for fear heТd sob aloud. Between them and the wagon lay a scatter of corpses, as if they were a few sticks of wood tossed in the eddy of this river of death.
A young man lay on his back, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, his eyes pools of slirne in a bloated grey face. The body of a comrade lay slung over his legs. Nearby lay an arm, torn clear off and as grey as stone, with the bone exposed and picked clean all down the wrist. Flies crawled between the fingers.
СMeer, watch out!Т fahdoТs voice came out all strangled. СStep round to your right.Т
СVery well,Т Meer was tapping with his stick, but gingerly, afraid no doubt of what he might touch. СLad, what are these dead men wearing?Т
СSome of them arenТt really dressed at all. The others have shirts with big sleeves and these leather vest things, and trousers that come all the way to their ankles, and thereТs these thong things that tie them in.Т
Meer whimpered in a way that said he recognized this garb.
They came at last to the overturned wagon and the enormous warrior stretched out beside it. At their approach a scatter of ravens shrieked and flew, but someone had dropped a cracked shield over the manТs face and folded his arms over his chest, too, with a cloak upon his hands, so that the birds had barely got a start on him. When Jahdo described these scant signs of respect, Meer made a long keening sound under his breath.
СWhat does that shield look like?Т
СWell, it be wooden, and sort of egg-shaped, and white-washed. In the middle there does lie this circle of metal with funny designs on it, and down at the bottom someoneТs scratched this little picture that I guess is supposed to be a dragon.Т
СA little more detail, if you please, about that metal plate.Т
СWell, the design runs in circles, and oneТs like when you braid a horseТs tail, three strands, and then thereТs one thatТs like a lot of knots, like someone did tie all these sheep-shank knots in a long rope but then never did pull them tight.Т
Meer shrieked.
СSlaver work, may the gods all help us! Can you bear to lift the shield, lad?Т
Gagging profoundly, Jahdo used the broken arrow to hook the shield rim and shove it to one side. At the motion it broke in half, the pieces sliding apart. All puffed with heat-rot a huge distorted face looked up with eyes glazed and milky. His mane of coarse black hair lay tangled and clotted with dried blood, which also streaked one tattooed check.
СMeer, I be sorry. He be Gel daТThae.Т
Meer tossed back his head and howled, a cry of such pulsating agony that all round the ravens flew, flapping indignantly in circles overhead as the bard shrieked again and again, clutching his staff in both hands and raising it high as if to lay his plaint before the very gods themselves. Thanks to MeerТs teaching of the lore, Jahdo knew that the charms and amulets braided into ThavraeТs hair were for his protection in the Deathworld and had to remain with him. The cluster of talismans on the thong round his neck, however, needed to go back to his kin. On the edge of vomiting Jahdo drew the knife his grandfather had given him, knelt down, and cut the thong while MeerТs rage and grief swirled round him like a storm. When Jahdo yanked the talismans free, the head flopped to one side. Retching and gagging, he stood up fast, shoving the charms into his pocket.
СMeer, Meer!Т He grabbed the bardТs arm. СItТs needful for us to get out of here. We donТt know where the enemies are. What if theyТre still close by?Т
Meer wailed once more, then let the sound die away with a rattle in his throat.
СTrue spoken, lad. It behooves us to head west as fast as we can travel.Т
Leaning on his stick, Meer let Jahdo lead him away, but doubled with grief the bard moved slowly. Once they were back at their camp, Jahdo sat Meer down by the pack saddles, handed him one of the waterskins for a drink, then tore off the mask and threw it onto the ground. He rushed to the river, knelt, and plunged his head and shoulders into the water. Gasping and crying, he flailed round with his arms until his entire upper body was soaked and free of the smell. He sat back on his heels and wondered if he should vomit, but by then the gut horror had faded, leaving him with memories that nothing would ever purge.
Meer began keening again, more softly, this time, but he was rocking back and forth, hands clasped round his drawn-up knees, rocking and moaning in a ghastly kind of music that had a certain beauty to it. Jahdo walked back and laid a hand on his shoulder.
СMeer, can you travel? WeТve got to get moving, Meer. I be so scared.Т
The Gel daТThae never heard him, merely keened and rocked, all knotted with grief. Jahdo grabbed his shoulders and shook him.
СMeer, Meer! Listen to me, Meer!Т
СGo on without me, lad. Let my house die here. Thavrae was the last hope of our house, a warrior who might win the right to claim a daughter as his own and hand over our name to her like a treasure chest. No daughters has my mother birthed, and woe woe unto our clan and kin, that the gods would wipe our name from the face of the earth. Leave me, Jahdo, and let me die with the name of our house.Т
СIТm not going to do anything of the sort. If you stay IТll stay with you, and then IТll die, too, and here you did promise my mother that youТd look after me.Т
Meer whimpered and trembled.
СWell, you did,Т jahdo snapped. СYou promised.Т
Meer fell silent for a long while, then all at once laughed, a hysterical sort of rumble.
СJahdo, lad, one day youТll no doubt be a great man among your
people, the Chief Speaker, IТd say, wielding power with words as your people do. Very well. Bring Baki over. IТll saddle him up first. All day we shall travel, and in the night IТll mourn.Т
Yet they made only a few pitiful miles that afternoon. Meer was exhausted with his mourning, Jahdo with the horror heТd seen and smelt, and in the hot sun it seemed they could barely put one foot in front of the other. At times Meer would burst into a mourning song, half music, half keening, only to break off in mid-phrase and fall silent again. As if they picked up his mood, the horse and mule walked head down and weary, ambling to a stop unless Jahdo yanked their lead ropes to keep them moving.