"02 - The Hawk Eternal 1.1a" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

'That is as it should be. Go now and rest. Make sure that not one word is spoken of this - not even to a brother druid. You understand me?'

'Of course, Lord.'

'Be sure that you do, for if I hear any whisper of it I shall turn your bones to stone, your blood to dust.'

Taliesen swung the cloak of feathers about his skinny shoulders and strode from his rooms.

Two hours later, having activated one of the Lesser Gates, he was climbing the eastern face of High Druin and feeling the bitter wind biting through his cloak. The cave was deep, and stacked with supplies to help wandering clansmen through the worst of the winter - sacks of dried oats and dried fruit, salt and sugar, salted meat and even a barrel of smoked fish. It was a haven for crofters and other travellers who needed to tackle the high passes in the winter months. There was a man-made hearth in the far corner, and two pallet beds; also a bench table, rudely fashioned from a split log, and two log rounds which served as seats.

The druid Metas was seated upon one of the rounds, which he had placed beside a pallet bed. Upon it lay an old woman, bandages encasing her chest and shoulder. As Taliesen approached the bed, Metas rose and bowed. Talisen praised him for his skill in administering to the woman, then repeated the warning he had given to the young druid when in his chambers.

'All will be as you order, Lord,' said Metas, bowing once more. Taliesen sent him back to Vallon and seated himself beside the sleeping woman.

Even now, so close to death, her face radiated strength of purpose. 'You were a queen without peer, Sigarni,' whispered Taliesen, taking hold of her hand and squeezing the fingers. 'But are you the one who will save my people?'

Her eyes opened. They were the grey of a winter sky, and the look she gave him was piercing. 'Again we meet,' she whispered, with a smile. The smile changed her face, returning to it the memory of youth and beauty he recalled so well. 'I fought the last battle, Taliesen ...' He held up his hand.

'Tell me nothing,' he said. 'Already the strands of time are so interwoven that I find it hard to know when - or where - I am. I would dearly love to know how the Ancient Gate was opened, but I dare not ask. I will only assume that I did it. For now you must rest, and regain your strength. Then we will talk."

'I am so tired,' she said. 'Forty years of war and loss, victory and pain. So tired. And yet it is good to be back in the Enchanted Realm.'

'Say nothing more,' he urged her. 'We stand at a delicate place on the cross-roads of time. Let me say only this. Two days ago you urged me to hunt down Caracis, and return to you the sword, Skallivar. You remember asking me this?'

She closed her eyes. 'I remember. It was almost thirty years ago. And you did.'

'Yes,' he said, his gaze drawn to the fabled sword that stood now against the far wall beside the fire.

'You sent the goddess walking on the water of the pool below the Falls. All my generals saw the miracle, and when word spread of it men came flocking to my banner. I owe you much for that, Taliesen.' Her words faded away, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Taliesen stood and walked to the sword, his thin fingers stroking the ruby pommel. He sighed and moved back into the sunlight. 'The goddess upon the water,' he repeated. What did she mean? Taliesen had spent the last two days desperately trying to think of a way to achieve what the Queen told him he already had!

And he remembered the words of his master, Astole, many centuries before. 'Treat the Gates with respect, Taliesen, lest you lose your mind. They are not merely doorways through time. You must understand that!'

Oh, how he understood! He glanced back at the sleeping Queen. How many times had he seen her die? Thirty? Fifty? Again the words of Astole drifted back to haunt him.

'Hold always to a Line, my boy. A single thread. Never move between the threads, for that way lies madness and despair. For every moment that the past can conjure gives birth to an infinity of futures. Cross them at your peril."

The sun was hot upon Taliesen's face, though the wind remained cool. 'I crossed them, Astole,' he said, 'and now I am trapped in a future I cannot unravel. Why is she here? How was the Gate opened? How was it that I returned her sword? Help me, Astole, for I am lost, and my people face annihilation.'

No answer came, and with a heavy heart Taliesen returned to the cave.

I

CASWALLON WATCHED THE murderous assault on Ateris, a strange sense of unreality gripping him. The clansman sat down on a boulder and gazed from the mountainside at the gleaming city below, white and glorious, like a child's castle set on a carpet of green.

The enemy had surprised the city dwellers some three hours before, and black smoke billowed now from the turrets and homes. The distant sound of screaming floated to his ears, disembodied, like the echo of a nightmare upon awakening.

The clansman's sea-green eyes narrowed as he watched the enemy hacking and slaying. He shook his head, sadness and anger competing within him. He had no love for these doomed lowlanders and their duplicitous ways. But, equally, this wanton slaughter filled him with sorrow.