"Flint, Kenneth C - Gods of Eire 03 - Master of the Sidhe UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Kenneth C)

It was altogether as if some particularly malicious creator had poured their essences into the cauldron of life with those of whatever loathsome creatures could be found, given them a vigorous stir, then poured out the resulting mixture

haphazardly.

Still, for all the terrible nature of their deformities, there was nothing pitiable about the Fomor, and there was certainly nothing weak. They were hard and ruthless warriors, heavily armed, more than able to cope with and even use their handicaps to their advantage: their awful appearance had long served to intimidate their enemies.

But now, for the first time in their memories, they had met defeat, and it had sent them all here, to this final refuge. The influx of hundreds of Fomor from all of Eire had created a situation of overcrowding and disorder. Many arguments, scuffles, and outright fights with weapons were taking place among the violent beings. And at one spot a dozen warriors were engaged in a bloody melee over a pile of booty looted from the once-enslaved de Dananns.

THE STRONGHOLD

9

The dreadful nature of the beings was only intensified by the loathsomeness of their setting. Lugh and his companions walked a street turned to an open sewer by refuse, past alleyways clogged with mounds of trash. They breathed a heavy, smoky air made foul with the odor of rot.

Still, it was clear that there had once been a much different intent for this city. Each of the structures the band passed was neat, square, and built of a once-white, once-smooth material. Row upon row of them were laid out in regular intervals, divided evenly by cross streets forming precise right angles. Obviously, a systematic and highly disciplined mind had been behind the creation of such a place. And, just as obviously, that mind had long been lost to the previous occupants.

The little group of visitors stayed very close together as the escorting serpent-headed warriors led them inward, past block after block of the identical buildings. They searched about them constantly for any sign of trouble, but the Fomor seemed little interested. Beyond casting an angry look or derisive word at them as they passed, the warriors did nothing to hinder them. The truce was apparently in effect.

As they moved ever deeper into the heart of the city, a change became evident. The buildings were becoming progressively larger, stretching upward to two, three, and finally four stories. Girths increased in proportion until whole blocks were filled by just a pair.

Their height and their closeness to the avenue created a canyon effect, casting a deep gloom below. It was an unpleasant reminder to the visitors of how far they had penetrated the enemy's camp and how vulnerable they were there. Lugh looked about him at the looming walls and felt a twinge of misgiving. Had the Dagda been right? Had they finally taken a risk too great, gone too far?

But then he saw the broad, absurd grin Gilla was directing at him. As so often before, the peculiar Clown's presence was enough to restore the young Champion's confidence and renew his zeal for adventure.

Abruptly, the party found itself at its goal. They passed a final block of the taller buildings and came out into a large open space

It was a square paved with a smooth stone, closed in by the high stone walls of the surrounding structures. On two sides of it the walls were continuous and featureless except

10

MASTEB OF THE SIDHE

for rows of timber-shuttered doors along the bases. But in the side directly opposite the avenue by which the little band entered the square, the opening of another street was visible.

Lugh and his companions stopped on the edge of this open space and stared across. Their attention was fixed on a group of Fomor warriors gathered just inside the mouth of that other street. Especially, it was fixed on one man who now strode boldly forward from the rest into the square.

All of them knew well enough the face of their old enemy, Bres.

Chapter Two

RUNNING THE MAZE

He walked out a third of the distance into the square and stopped there, taking up a commanding pose, hands on hips, head up, eyes sweeping arrogantly across the group facing

him.

' He was tall and strongly built, clad in the colorful garb of a warrior chieftain. A cloak of brilliant red hung casually about his wide shoulders, thrown back to reveal a gold-trimmed tunic and the jewel-studded hilt of a sword. Curling masses of black hair formed a mane about a massive head whose strong, roughly chiseled features added to his air of toughness,

Once he had been the de Danann's High-King. He had used his power to strip them of their pride and strength and keep them subservient to the Fomor. Then Lugh had discovered Bres's secret. He was himself half Fomor in blood and wholly so in mind. Dethroned by Nuada, driven from Tara by a de Danann uprising, he had taken control of the Fomor army. He had led it in a war with a single goal: the annihilation of the entire de Danann race.