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

Grunnarch sailed to the Iron Keep, fortress of Thelgaar Ironhand on Oman's isle. Central among the Moonshae Islands, the keep had a fine deep harbor and, more importantly, the fortress of the northmen's most powerful king, Thelgaar Ironhand. From Iron Keep, the northmen could reach Moray, Gwynneth, or Callidyr - all the lands of the Ffolk. The divided kingdoms of the Ffolk practically begged to be raided. If Thelgaar, with his huge fleet and battle-hardened army, decided to join the campaign, there would be no limit to the summer's potential.
And indeed, two days before landfall, masts were sighted upon the northern horizon. In a matter of hours, Grunnarch recognized the blue whale insignia of Raag Hammerstaad, king of the Norheim Isles. Raag also sailed with many ships. Grunnarch wondered how many other kingdoms might decide to join the warlike throng this summer.
The two fleets merged, and the wind freshened. A hundred ships coursed through the waves, all intent upon Oman harbor. Soon the rocky outline of the island broke the southeast horizon. Grunnarch's vessel in the lead, the fleet filed around the promontory that protected the harbor. Grunnarch grunted in pleasure at the scene in the harbor.
The hundred ships of Thelgaar lined part of the shore of the harbor. In addition to the Iron King's warships were those of many other kingdoms, already arrived and arrayed for war.
This would indeed be a summer of blood and plunder.

* * * * *

The goddess shivered, and flinched. She felt her body growing numb - not from fear, but from a distant and wistful sadness. The feeling was remote, and she took no great notice of it. Gradually, though, she began to recognize the numbness for the dire threat it was.
With an effort, she forced herself to stir. Passivity now, she knew instinctively, would be fatal. The call she sent reverberated through the earth, thrumming deep within the mountains and hills, and even rolling along the bottorn of the sea.
Hoping that it was not too late, the goddess tried to awaken her children.


II
A PROPHECY

ERIAN STRODE RAPIDLY back through the gatehouse and down the road to the festival. He was anxious to return to the fun. Damn that little gamecock, anyway, he swore, thinking of the prince. I save his skin from that slithering spitball of a Calishite, and for what?
The big guard spat angrily into the dust, and felt a little better. He thought of Geoffrey the aleman, who would undoubtedly have several cool kegs tapped near a comfortable bench. With a dozen silver coins in his pocket, Erian would be able to drink all day and most of the night.
Geoffrey's tent, bigger than most, also rose above the others like a beckoning tower. As Erian had guessed, the fat innkeeper offered uncorked kegs of light and dark ale, as well as thick Callidyrr mead. Splurging, the man-at-arms used one of his silver pieces to purchase a huge tankard of mead.
Turning from the bar, Erian surveyed the other occupants of the tent. Several northmen clustered nearby, drinking quietly. A young bard entertained a group of men and women, farmerffolk, in the far corner.
Then he saw the woman sitting quietly in the darkest corner of the tent. She regarded him with a bold, somewhat amused gaze - a gaze that Erian returned with interest. Her eyes flashed once, very quickly.
He saw that she wore peasant clothes, which seemed much too large for her. Nonetheless, the outlines of her body, he also noticed, stood out clearly against the casually wrinkled cloth, curving deliciously as though to scorn the plain raiment.
Staring, Erian somehow found himself standing before her. Even with her face still masked by shadow, she overwhelmed him. He sat before her, and slowly remembered where, and who, he was.
"My name is Erian," he announced, feeling somehow proud of the fact that he was able to talk at all.
"I am... Meridith," responded the woman. She blinked, and he noticed that her eyes were strangely vague, almost empty. Yet they had flashed at him from across the room!
"That is an unusual name. Do you come from Calidyrr, or farther places?" he asked.
She seemed amused, for a moment, as she replied, "I come from, yes, farther places."
"How do you like our festival?" Erian asked, thinking with pleasure of spending a day escorting Meridith about the festival. And of the night that would, perhaps, follow.
"It is quite interesting," responded the woman, as if reading his mind. "But I should like to see more of it."
Erian beamed. "Allow me to be your escort!"
Standing, he offered his arm, playing the part of the gallant. She laughed, and rose also. For just a moment, he saw that flash of fire in her eyes, and his blood raced.
The day passed quickly. Ale and wine stalls were numerous, and Erian found a reason to visit each one and quench his thirst. Meridith drank an occasional glass of wine, but professed a distaste for malt beverage. Nonetheless, she encouraged him not to allow her abstinence to interfere with his thirst.
Later, the coolness of the spring night drove them close together. Meridith's body seemed to harbor a deep chill, and Erian enjoyed the opportunity to wrap her against him in his cloak. She fit nicely at his side, snuggling closer with an eagerness that delighted and excited him.
Once, during the day, they had passed the prince, touring the festival with the king's ward and, to Erian's surprise, the Calishite thief who had robbed him that very day. The guard turned to remark about the fact, and Erian saw Meredith watching the prince's party with a look of frightening intensity. Immediately, the guard felt a surge of raw jealousy.
"Who is that?" she asked in a low voice.
"He's the young poppinjay of a prince - carries himself like he owns the whole town," grumbled the guard, in a not altogether accurate description. "He's a disgrace to the Kendrick name! Cares not a whit for the responsibilities of his position - all he's interested in are his blasted hounds and having a good time!"
Erian turned and scowled at Meridith. "What are you looking at him for, anyway? Come on!" He reached for her arm to pull her away, but her voice, strangely urgent, cut him off.
"And the girl? Who is she?"
Now Erian looked back, for Robyn was a sight his eyes had rested upon more than once. Although her shape was hidden beneath her long cape, there were, the guard remembered, gentle curves and soft swells that had turned the lass into a woman over the last two years. The memories inflamed his ardor, and again he reached for Meridith. This time, his arms slipped about her, and she allowed his hand to drop boldly along her back.
"She's the king's ward - an orphan, they say. She's lived in the castle since she was a baby."
"Interesting," mused Meredith, as the guard led her away. Her voice, soft and husky, nearly brought Erian's blood to a boil. As he found another ale tent, the woman's unblinking eyes turned back to Tristan and Robyn, curious, and a little menacing. But when Erian returned with a full mug, Meredith laughed gaily and allowed the big man to take her arm and lead her through the fair.
Eventually they returned to the ale tent where they met, and sat again on the corner bench. Erian felt he must have said something terribly witty, for Meridith was laughing delightedly. And then she paused, regarding him. Again that spark in her eyes, this time a gleaming as of hot coals on a dark night.
She leaned forward and kissed him, and her mouth was hot. The coolness seemed to have left her body, as she leaned against him. She was heat everywhere, and perspiration flowed from his pores.
Erian met her kiss with crushing force, driving his mouth against hers and reaching for her body. She melted backward and he leaned over her. She clasped him, nibbling at his ear and neck. He looked down as she moved again to kiss him, and saw again those fiery eyes. This time, it was as if the door to a furnace had been cast open, and he saw great depths of fire, and heat...
And death. She sucked the air and the spirit from his body, replacing it with something foul and perverted. The spirit of the man remained within his body, but it was twisted by the power of the Darkwell into something mightier, but something terribly evil.

* * * * *

"Let's get back to the festival," the prince suggested, after Daryth had been shown his new quarters in the barracks.
The Calishite claimed to have no more possessions than those he carried. He had quickly refused Tristan's suggestion that they visit the galleon in the harbor that had brought him to Corwell. Daryth was pleasant and talkative, but resisted any attempts to question him about his background.