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

All eyes in the council rested upon her, but Genna paused lengthily before she spoke. The wind stilled, and the great forest was strangely silent.
"My brothers and sisters," the Great Druid began. Her voice was soft and musical, yet carried the weight of majesty. The power was well concealed, and her tone seemed wistful.
"The Mother has spoken to me," Genna continued. The druids understood that this meant the Great Druid had had a prophetic dream. "Her next sleep may be her last. Her power wanes grievously, and the instruments of her destruction gather even before the snow has melted from the land."
She turned a slow circle, looking at each of the druids gathered before her. For a moment she paused, wondering if she saw a flash of unnatural light near the rear of the group. Then, her eyes moved on.
Trahern of Oakvale sighed, shivering with tension, and hid his face more deeply within his hood.
Somberly the druids regarded Genna, waiting for her to continue.
"The children of the goddess have been awakened."
This statement drew a few low mutters of astonishment from the gathering, for none but the oldest of the druids recalled a time when the goddess had been forced to call upon her children. The news was heartening, for the children of the goddess - the Leviathan, the Unicorn, and the Pack - were potent allies indeed.
"Yet even this step will not be sufficient to restore the Balance!" Genna's voice took on a note of firmness. "The Firbolgs are abroad, and their activities threaten the Balance on a very direct level.
"The rest of my dream is not clear to me. I can only share these images: somehow, darkness has emerged from light, and now this darkness walks abroad in the land. It is this darkness, whatever its nature, that the Mother fears the most.
"Armies shall gather, and blood will be shed. Very possibly. Myrloch Vale itself will be violated. Should that happen, those of you who are entrusted with the vale's protection are to hinder and slow the passage of the desecrating force, without risking yourselves or your groves. Do not use the animals, if you can possibly avoid it."
Genna paused again, turning a full circle to look at each of her druids. Satisfied, she spoke again, "Remember that the armies, though potent, are not the most dangerous enemy of the Earthmother.
Learn all you can about the nature of any strange occurrences in the lands under your care. Whatever the nature of the "darkness from light," we must learn more about it. I fear that it is the most dire threat of all to the Balance.
"Now," Genna continued, her tone mellowing slightly, "what news from the far ends of Gwynneth?"
Quinn Moonwane, master of Llyrath Forest, stepped forward and addressed the gathering. "Your warning fits with tidings of late in Llyrath. That great forest has felt the trod of invading footsteps already. Although I have not discovered the nature of this invasion, I now suspect the Firbolgs."
"And I have seen the armies gathering!" announced Isolde of Winterglen, stepping to Quinn's side. Her domain covered the vast tract of forest over northern Gwynneth. This forest separated the fortresses of northmen clans that had long ago conquered the northern reaches of Gwynneth.
"The northmen march together, armed heavily, singing songs of war." Isolde's voice did not conceal the scorn with which she regarded the northmen. "They gathered at their ports, a great and warlike throng. Then, several days ago, they boarded their ships and sailed. Their destination I do not know; but the number of their ships was greater than I have yet seen."
"Thank you," acknowledged the Great Druid. The soothing tones of her voice calmed the rising tide of fear that Isolde's words had triggered.
"My brothers, my sisters," Genna continued, still calming and soothing with her voice. "Our vigilance must be constant. Our enemies are strong, but so are our friends. Oh yes," she added in afterthought, "As in times past when the Balance has been severely strained, a hero will arise from among the Ffolk - a hero who is already a prince."
"This current prince," grunted Quinn, "is young and impetuous - he could make disastrous mistakes."
"Of course he could," agreed Genna cheerfully. "In fact, having met the lad, I'll say that I'm certain he will make mistakes, probably disastrously. But he is greatly steadied by the girl. And, indeed, do we have any other choice?"
"Yes, the girl," answered Quinn. "Quite remarkable, indeed. She carries great potential within her, as you had guessed."
Genna smiled discreetly, but made no comment. Her throat tightened, and moisture crept unbidden to her eyes as she thought of the black-haired maiden. Clearing her throat gruffly, she regarded every one of the gathered druids with her bright, sparkling gaze, Her look seemed to spread peace throughout the group.
"May the goddess protect you!"
Genna turned and vanished, although not entirely. Those who watched very closely saw a small, feathered shape dart across the surface of the Moonwell. The swallow flew into the night and quickly disappeared.
The druids turned and moved away from the council ring as silently as they had arrived. Soon, all but one had vanished into the surrounding darkness. That one stood still, staring at the Moonwell, lost in deep thought.
Trahern of Oakvale looked much as he had a few days earlier. Only his eyes were different. They did not glow with vitality, but instead, seemed to glimmer with a hot, angry light. The folds of his brown hood kept his face in shadow, but one who looked within the shadow might think he looked into the embers of a low fire, for such were the eyes of Kazgoroth.
Now, after listening to Genna, and through her the goddess, Trahern understood the pattern that unfolded before him. With his help, the Balance would unravel, leaving Gwynneth in chaos and despair.
Now Trahern the druid, newly the spawn of Kazgoroth, understood the role he would play in the plan.

* * * * *

The rays of the full moon illuminated the sleeping village of Corwell, which was gathered around its protecting castle on the shores of Corwell Firth. A few guards strolled listlessly about the battlements of Caer Corwell or slept at their posts. The village was quiet, as the taverns had closed for the night, and all decent Ffolk were sound asleep.
Erian the guard paced restlessly back and forth in his tiny hut near the castle. Since the night of the spring festival, he had been restless and edgy - often, he grew physically sick. A horse clopped along the street outside, and he turned to the door, an audible snarl curling his lip. He had been unhappy and fearful for the entire month, but never had he felt as restless as now. White moonbeams spilled through the window, and he unconsciously turned his face upward, allowing the cold light of the full moon to wash over him.
Finally, he lay on a straw pallet, but he could not sleep. His body ached, and his mind reeled with confusion. Suddenly, he sat upright, the movement bringing an involuntary groan as his muscles cried out in protest. With a cry, he rolled off the pallet onto the floor.
Trying to get up, he found himself crippled. His legs flailed uselessly at the floor. He tried to grasp a handhold to pull himself up, but his fingers would not work. Howling in anguish, he thrashed across the floor, finally rolling to a stop in a pool of milky moonlight pouring through his single window.
The light seemed to soothe him, yet it beckoned him at the same time. The full moon, a perfect circle of brightness, gazed through the window, and he began to understand his helplessness. The tears of the moon - the glittering chain of bright stars that followed the moon through the sky-blinked cheerily, seeming to mock his plight.
His skin cracked away from his arms and face, but the red wound quickly disappeared beneath a rough coat of brown fur. Sharp, pointed fangs erupted from his gums, and his face distorted in terrible pain. He tried to rub his eyes with his hands, but those appendages had disappeared, to be replaced with padded paws, tipped with sharp, wickedly curving claws.
And as the silvery rays stroked the guard's twisted and aching body, Erian completed his transformation.

* * * * *

The Pack awakened to the cold, white glare of the full moon. Gray and shaggy forms emerged from a hundred dens, shaking the weariness of a long hibernation from stiffened muscles and sleep-clouded brains.
A large male raised his voice to the moon in a long, ululating howl. Others joined in, first a few, but then hundreds. As one creature, the Pack raised its voice to the heavens, singing the praises of the goddess.
And then a soft breeze carried to the large male the scent of a stag, somewhere not far away in the misty night. Patches of fog drifted among the towering pines, but bright moonlight illuminated the clearings and the high places as the wolf searched for the source of the scent.
Others picked up the spoor, smelling blood, and meat, and fear. The baying of the Pack dropped lower, and took on a deeper tone of menace. Slowly, like gray ghosts, the wolves began to lope through the forest, gaining speed as alertness returned. The stag turned fear-maddened eyes toward its deadly pursuers, and then fled - a flight that could have only one consequence, as the Pack spread out and began to close upon its prey.
Once again, after a century of sleep, the mighty wolves of the Pack sang to their prey. The song was ancient and piercingly beautiful. It was a song of the glory of the goddess, and of the might of her children.
But, above all, it was a song of death.

IV