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

But the call of the mother was relentless, and finally a hulking form stirred in the deep silt of the sea bottom. Shrugging its giant body free from the clutching muck, the creature rose from the bottom and floated, nearly motionless, in the depths. Time passed, and the form slowly sank toward the bottom again.
But again the goddess prodded gently at her huge child. The great head swung slowly from side to side, and powerful flukes pushed hard against the sea bottom. A mighty tail thrust downward, and the body flexed along its vast length.
Then it began to move, slowly at first, but gaining an awesome momentum. The flukes plowed the water with solid authority, and the broad tail pushed with unstoppable force. Higher, toward the realms of light, and sun, and current, the creature moved.
It gathered speed as it rose, and energy seemed to build in the mighty body. A stream of bubbles flowed from the wide mouth, trickling around layers of huge teeth and seeming to flow downward along the huge body.
The water ahead grew slowly brighter, until the creature saw a pale gray glow spread across the upper reaches of the sea. The grayness became blue, and finally even the sun came into view, a shimmering yellow dot viewed through the filter of the sea.
The body broke the surface of the water with explosive force, sending a shower of brine through the air in all directions. High, and impossibly higher, the creature rose into the air, and still more of its length emerged from the frothing sea. Water spilled from the black skin in thundering waterfalls, until finally the great head slowed, and paused for an instant.
With a crash that rocked the sea for miles around, the body fell back to the surface. Waves exploded outward from the falling body with enough force to capsize a large ship. But the horizon was empty of either land or sail.
There was none to see that the Leviathan had awakened.

III
THE HUNT

TRAHERN OF OAKVALE walked silently among the vast trunks of his forest domain. His brown robe blended easily with the knobby trunks, and his sturdy oaken staff provided additional balance as he stepped lightly across fallen tree trunks and other obstacles.
The druid was growing old, but Trahern still felt pride in the state of his forest and the thriving health of his creatures. The caretakership of any of the forests around Myrloch was an honored post among the druids, and Trahern had lived up to the expectations placed upon him. He had avoided conflict with the Llewyrr, though the faeriefolk often traveled and camped in his preserve.
Trahern would be content to live out in peace the remainder of his days tending Oakvale. Every twist in the forest path he now followed, and every piece of lichen and moss that bedecked the numerous tree trunks lying about the woods, was as familiar to Trahern as the interior of his own small cottage. And in this familiarity, he found peace.
But now his peace had been interrupted. The High Druid of Gwynneth, Genna Moonsinger, had summoned the druids of the land to gather in emergency council on the shore of Myrloch. This rare circumstance could only mean that grave danger threatened the land. The old druid found the idea of another crisis particularly annoying now that he was in the autumn of his life. In fact, he had rudely shooed away the owl that had brought him the summons.
A sudden movement at one side caught the druid's eye, and he paused to squint into the brush. His eyes were not what they used to be, but again he saw a shimmer of delicate movement. His heart pounded in excitement as he saw a smoothly curved leg, trailing a filmy gown, disappear behind a tree.
A dryad!
Trahern forgot the council in his eagerness to find the tree sprite. Her lair must be near! Could it be that she was calling him?
Trahern knew that occasionally a dryad would call a druid to come and live with it for a time. These druids never spoke of the experience afterwards, but their eyes seemed to return to memories that were most pleasant indeed. Now, perhaps he had been called!
The druid caught sight of the slender form again as it slipped behind another tree. This time, the figure turned back teasingly, and he saw sparkling eyes and heard a tinkle of musical laughter.
Puffing with exertion, Trahern followed the dryad around another tree. In his eagerness, he nearly stumbled but was close behind the sprite as he stepped around the bole of a giant oak.
There, Kazgoroth took him.

* * * * *

The feathered decoy wafted high into the air, fluttering like a wounded bird, and Tristan quickly drew and sighted his arrow. Quickly he let the missile fly, cursing as it missed the target by ten feet.
The decoy glided on, and underneath it, on the ground, streaked a brown form. Canthus followed the fluttering object for over a hundred yards. As it finally began settling back toward earth, the great dog crouched, and then hurled himself into the air. The decoy was still eight feet from the ground when the dog's powerful jaws closed over it.
The great moorhound had filled out in the few weeks Tristan had owned him. His square jaw, thick neck encircled by a studded iron collar, and sturdy shoulders made him a very solid dog. His long legs and strength insured that he was very fast. "Good catch!" applauded Robyn, as Daryth whistled for the dog to return.
"At least one of you might put some meat on the table," grunted Arlen, looking at Tristan in disappointment.
"Forget the damn bow!" cursed Tristan, throwing down the weapon he was having trouble conquering.
"I can take care of myself well enough with my sword!"
"Sure ye can," agreed the older man. "But ye'll never be a king of the Ffolk if they can't see that ye wield a bow as well as a blade!"
"I don't want to be king!" retorted the prince. "I'm going to town." He turned and stalked away from his teacher and Robyn.
"Tristan Kendrick!" Robyn's voice dripped with scorn. "For someone who doesn't want to be king, you sure like to act like one! Where in Gwynneth did you learn to be so rude to your teacher?"
The prince turned, biting back an angry comment, and looked at Robyn and Arlen. Daryth stood off to the side, pretending not to pay attention.
"You're right," he agreed, lowering his gaze and shaking his head. "I'm sorry, old friend." He held out his hand.
The old warrior took it briefly, then said gruffly, "Get ready." He prepared another decoy, then turned to the prince. "And pay attention, damn ye! That last shot was pure carelessness - ye forgot about the wind, and it looked like ye took little notice of yer target's motion!"
Again, and again, the decoy fluttered up and the prince shot arrows from the powerful longbow. Each miss made him more annoyed, although several shots grazed the target. The prince noted that Robyn had gone to stand with Daryth, as the Calishite directed the apparently tireless Canthus through his retrieving.
"One more time," Tristan said, almost snarling, as his fingers tightened on the bow.
Arlen swung his arm, the launcher clicked, and again the decoy fluttered into the air. As Canthus raced across the grassy heath, the prince swiftly drew and nocked an arrow. In an instant, the bowstring was taut against Tristan's ear, and he sighted down the shaft as the decoy rose and spun across his path.
Tristan advanced his aim, anticipating the flight of the decoy, and took note of the wind. It had fallen, suddenly, to virtual stillness. Loosing the arrow, the prince watched it streak toward the target.
The shaft struck solidly, sending a spray of feathers fluttering through the air. Even as the decoy, changed direction, falling to earth, the great moorhound whirled and leaped, catching the remains of the target in his widespread jaws.
"Well done, lad," grunted Arlen, in what for him was an exuberant expression of pleasure. "There's hope ye'll be an archer yet!"
Tristan smiled wanly, relieved at his success but annoyed by the frustrations it took to get there. Still, the praise pleased him.
"Now stop shooting for a moment and eat!" ordered Robyn, returning with Daryth to the student and teacher. The prince looked at her sharply, but she paid no attention. "Here - I've made you something;" she said, offering a covered bowl to the prince.
Tristan, admiring Canthus's strong jaws as Daryth removed the ruined decoy, took the bowl and absently uncovered it. A sound of exasperation caught his attention, and he realized that Robyn had been waiting for him to say something. Too late now, she was already stalking off toward the Calishite.
Tristan looked down and saw that she had prepared one of his favorite dishes - a mixture of mushrooms, lettuce, and chives. He started over to thank the lass, but she pointedly turned her back and offered a similar bowl to Daryth. Stung, the prince sat on the ground and chewed his food.
"Hello!" A thin voice trailed up the hill, and Tristan saw the diminutive figure of Pawldo climbing toward them. In a few minutes, the halfling joined them. The stocky little halfling was outfitted for walking but readily dropped to the grass beside them as if he had nowhere very pressing to go.
"I see that he learns quickly," announced Pawldo, nodding toward the great hound that lay, panting, upon the sun-warmed grass.