"David Gemmell - Drenai Tales 05 - In the Realm of the Wolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

terms. I do not mean that to sound patronising. You are bright and
intelligent. You have courage and wit. But sometimes it is like trying to
describe colours to a blind man. Love, as I hope you will find, has great
power. Even death cannot destroy it. And I still love her.' Leaning forward he
drew her towards him, kissing her brow. 'Now skin that beast. And I'll see you
at dusk.'
She watched him walk away, a tall man moving with grace and care, his black
and silver hair drawn back into a tightly-tied ponytail, his crossbow hanging
from his belt.
And then he was gone - vanished into the shadows.
The waterfall was narrow, no more than six feet wide, flowing over white
boulders in a glittering cascade to a leaf-shaped bowl thirty feet across and
forty-five long. At its most southern point a second fall occurred, the stream
surging on to join the river two miles south. Golden leaves swirled on the
surface of the water, and with each breath of breeze more spiralled down from
the trees.
Around the pool grew many flowers, most of them planted by the man who now
knelt by the graveside. He
glanced up at the sky. The sun was losing its power now, the cold winds of
autumn flowing over the mountains. Waylander sighed. A time of dying. He gazed
at the golden leaves floating on the water and remembered sitting here with
Danyal and the children, on another autumn day ten lifetimes ago.
Krylla was sitting with her tiny feet in the water, Miriel swimming among the
leaves. 'They are like the souls of the departed,' Danyal had told Krylla.
'Floating on the sea of life towards a place of rest.'
He sighed again and returned his attention to the flower-garlanded mound
beneath which lay all he had lived for.
'Miriel fought a lion today,' he said. 'She stood and did not panic. You would
have been proud of her.' Laying his ebony-handled crossbow to one side he idly
dead-headed the geraniums growing by the headstone, removing the faded, dry
red blooms. The season was late and it was unlikely they would flower again.
Soon he would need to pull them, shaking dry the roots and hanging them in the
cabin, ready for planting in the spring.
'But she is still too slow,' he added. 'She does not act with instinct, but
with remembered learning. Not like Krylla.' He chuckled. 'You remember how the
village boys used to gather around her? She knew how to handle them, the tilt
of the head, the sultry smile. She took that from you.'
Reaching out he touched the cold, rectangular marble head-stone, his index
finger tracing the carved lines.
Danyal, wife of Dakeyras, the pebble in the moonlight
The grave was shaded by elms and beech, and there were roses growing close by,
huge yellow blooms filling the air with sweet fragrance. He had bought them in
Kasyra, seven bushes. Three had died as he journeyed back, but the remainder
flourished in the rich clay soil.
'I'm going to have to take her to the city soon,' he said. 'She's eighteen
now, and she needs to learn. I'll find a
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husband for her.' He sighed. 'It means leaving you for a while. I'm not
looking forward to that.'
The silence grew, even the wind in the leaves dying down. His dark eyes were