"01 - Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moonshae)

Arlen got up, stretched, and walked to his room. Robyn swiftly followed, taking the single room they had hired for her. Pawldo and Daryth, too, slipped away quietly. They all felt the discomfort and general gloominess of the day, renewed and strengthened by the innkeeper's warning.
At least the following day dawned clear, with the promise of more warmth than the previous day had offered. Again the party was off before sunrise, but now they had no road to follow, "This track should take us to the edge of Llaryth," announced Arlen, as he led the group along a narrow, winding trail. The terrain was rocky and barren, with small lakes and an occasional shepherd's cottage about the only features worthy of notice. Even the cottages disappeared as they moved farther southward. They finally camped in a sheltered niche, surrounded by high rocks that would keep away the knife-edged bite of the wind.
Tristan forged into a thicket of scrub oak, seeking firewood. He gathered several good limbs, and then froze as he heard a rustling behind him. Slowly, he turned, relaxing as Daryth emerged from a thicket, also gathering wood.
"Tristan," asked the houndmaster, "what is it about this place? I don't like the feel of it!"
"I don't know," responded the prince. "I've been here many times, but never felt any danger... until now. Bah! It must be our imaginations!"
"Indeed," murmured Daryth, unconvinced.
"Of course, there might be something to that innkeeper's warning," admitted the prince. "But it's more likely he was testing us, or playing some ruse. We've seen nothing out of the ordinary."
"Do you come here a lot?"
"Arlen used to bring Robyn and me camping here when we were children. I guess it's been five or six years since we've been here, though. It's always been a pleasant place - very wild, not many people around. I like that about Llyrath Forest."
"You and Robyn," Daryth asked, a little awkwardly.
"Are you...?"
Ignoring a surge of jealousy, Tristan answered thoughtfully. "I don't know. Even though we've known each other all our lives, Robyn excites me like no other girl or woman. But there's something about her that keeps me at arm's length. And -" He had to laugh. "- there's something about me that keeps her at arm's length."
"She is a lovely woman - more beautiful than anyone I have ever known. I should like to, well..." Daryth's desire remained unspoken.
"So would I," laughed Tristan. "So would I."
The next day brought them into the edge of the wood, and here the hunt began. The hounds, pent up by the slow pace of the party's march, were loosed, and soon disappeared among the widely spaced oak trees of the pastoral forest. Urging their horses on, the hunters pursued.
The eager hounds, following the vigorous lead of Canthus, flushed birds from their covers, chased and caught any hapless rabbits that lay in their path, and sniffed the ground in search of larger game. The dogs crisscrossed back and forth across the hunters' path, silently intent on their search.
Only Angus showed signs of slowing. The old dog kept the pace of the pack for several hours, but finally slowed to an amble at the side of the riders.
Over the next few days, as the band worked its way eastward, the archery skill of Arlen and Pawldo put a dozen pheasants and quail into the game bags, but no bigger game.
Finally, the hounds picked up the scent of a deer, and bounded into the brush in pursuit. The prince spurred his horse through a tangled thicket in pursuit, his companions streaming along behind. The hounds eventually brought the animal to bay against a sheer rock wall. Daryth signaled the dogs to halt, and Tristan took careful aim as the slender creature stood, shivering with fear, against the cliff.
The prince's arrow flew straight, piercing the creature's neck and swiftly killing it. Suddenly, all those practice sessions were worthwhile.
"Bravo!" clapped Pawldo, trotting up to the prince.
"Nice shot," commented Arlen, and Daryth nodded in agreement.
Robyn turned away as the deer fell - each time the creature kicked, she flinched. Momentarily, Tristan regretted her presence. Why had she insisted on coming, anyway? She took something from the fun...
As he stripped and cleaned the kill, his annoyance lifted, and he remembered that Robyn had wished to seek out some fungus or something in the forest. He resolved to give her the opportunity to do so.
They camped that night near a small, clear lake among a grove of lofty pine trees. The ground was cushioned with a thick layer of needles, and firewood was plentiful, so they had a comfortable camp and got a good night's rest. Still, Robyn seemed quiet and depressed that night, and again the following morning.
"Perhaps we should rest here for another day or two," suggested the prince as the party breakfasted on bread and cheese. "Robyn could then have a chance to collect some of her fungi, and we can explore this lake a bit."
"It is indeed a beautiful spot," agreed Arlen, looking around as if for the first time. Low, forested ridges, perfectly reflected in the still morning water, surrounded the lake.
They almost forgot the warnings of the druids and the innkeeper in the pleasant passing of the bright day. Yet, even as they enjoyed watching the girl in her fungus hunt, something in the quiet, almost abandoned forest, something vaguely frightening, impinged on their awareness.
They were all moving in close proximity when Robyn cried, "There!" and leaped to the ground. Racing to a fallen trunk, Robyn pointed gleefully to a long, shelflike fungus growing from the rotting wood.
Then, yards from her back, the bushes parted, and the grizzled head of a monstrous boar emerged from the undergrowth. Its glittering, blood-red eyes peered angrily about, and it grunted in annoyance.
Tristan's heart froze.
The boar's tusks, nearly a foot long, gleamed wickedly in the shadowy light. Robyn had turned as the bushes rustled behind her, and the color drained from her face as she beheld the angry creature, barely thirty feet away.
And then, with a grunt, the boar charged.

* * * * *

The still, deep waters of Myrloch reflected the silvery rays of a full moon. The sun had just set and the moon risen, when the druids began to gather before the great council ring. The reflected moonlight illuminated the gathering, and a watcher could have seen that the mood was somber, perhaps even fearful.
The great stone arches of the council ring sprang, one after the other, from the surrounding shadows as the moon rose higher. In the center of the ring, a pool of bright water reflected the moonlight in all directions, amplifying its brightness. As the moon climbed, the watchers could see sparkling spots of light, like vivid stars, following it. Common legend held that they were the tears shed by the moon for the sorrows of the present night.
By contrast, the gathering druids stood solemnly among the shadows at the perimeter of the ring, quietly waiting. They did not talk to one another, nor did their attention waver from the Moonwell to acknowledge new arrivals. Their number continued to grow, as more and more of the dark-robed figures emerged from the towering pines that ringed Myrloch.
Each wore a robe of brown or dark green, sometimes mottled with a forested pattern. These Ffolk were men and women of both strength and gentleness.
Their steps did not disturb the branches and twigs along the ground, nor did their gazes frighten the smallest of woodland creatures. Yet, as a group, they harbored great might indeed.
The druid known as Trahern of Oakvale hobbled into the clearing, looking nervously about. He remained far from any of the other druids, his hands clenched together in the sleeves of his robe. He sneaked glances at the nearest druids and sneered viciously, baring his cracked and bleeding lips. How much he hated them - hated them all!
Licking his lips, he made an effort to keep his body still. It would not do to attract attention to himself. Pulling his deep hood farther down over his face, Trahern waited for the council to begin.
Some of the druids, those who had to travel far, or simply wanted to display their great powers, arrived more theatrically. An owl settled to the ground between two of the great arches. Its shape shimmered and changed into that of a proud, tall man: Quinn Moonwane, master of the forest realm of Llyrath. A hawk dropped suddenly from the sky to land beside Quinn, and quickly changed to human form. Now Isolde of Winterglen stood beside the druid from Llyrath. She whose realm included the woodlands of northern Gwynneth did not greet her peer from the south, but all who watched knew that the time for the council drew near.
Only the Great Druid of Gwynneth still remained absent. The moon climbed higher, its silvery beams casting clear shadows across the great ring. All of the arches now stood out clearly. Each was made from the positioning of three massive stones. Two served as pillars, while the third rested across the tops of the other two. There were twelve of these arches in the outer ring.
In the center of the circle, the Moonwell glistened with a light all its own. Around the Moonwell stood eight pillars of stone, grouped in four pairs. None of the druids approached the center, but in the bright moonlight, perhaps fifty of them were visible gathered around the perimeter of the ring.
Suddenly the waters of the Moonwell parted with a soft plop, and a tiny creature emerged from the silvery liquid. With some surprise, the druids watched a small frog cross the ground to the space between one pair of pillars in the center of the ring. In a sudden instant the frog was gone and Genna Moonsinger, Great Druid of Gwynneth, stood before the assembly.
As Genna appeared in her normal guise, so did the moon reach its zenith. Its brilliant light spilled between the two pillars and illuminated the Great Druid for all the rest to see.
Genna Moonsinger looked older, and tired, but she still bore the understanding smile and look of benign patience that had won her this honored post against the competition of more vigorous, but less wise, druids. She slowly turned, giving all present the benefit of that smile, and as she did so the tension that had been building in the ring seemed to lighten, if it did not vanish altogether.
The rays of the full moon highlighted the wrinkles in the Great Druid's aged face but could not overcome the lively sparkle of her eyes. Her body was rounded and stocky, but she carried herself with great dignity. She looked as if the many years of her life had not worn and weakened her, but instead had weathered and strengthened her. The polished oaken staff she held before her gleamed smoothly. Decades of use had worn its surface to a golden sheen.