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

distant, his memories solemn. Smoothly he rose and, taking up the clay bowl
beside the headstone, he moved to the pool, filled the bowl and began to water
the roses. Yesterday's rain had been little more than a shower and the roses
liked to drink deep.
Kreeg crouched low in the bushes, his crossbow loaded. How easy, he
thought,,unable to suppress a smile.
Find Waylander and kill him. He had to admit that the prospect of such a hunt
had frightened him. After all, Waylander the Slayer was no mean opponent. When
his family were slain by raiders, he roamed the land until he had hunted down
every one of the killers. Waylander was a legend among the Guild, a capable
swordsman, but a brilliant knife-fighter and a crossbowman without peer. More
than this he was said to possess mystical abilities, always sensing when
danger was near.
Kreeg sighted the crossbow at the tall man's back. Mystical abilities? Pah. In
one heartbeat he would be dead.
The man at the graveside picked up a clay bowl and moved towards the pool.
Kreeg shifted his aim, but his intended victim crouched down, filling the
bowl. Kreeg lowered his bow a fraction, slowly letting out his held breath.
Waylander was side-on now, and a sure killing shot would have to be to the
head. What was he doing with the water? Kreeg watched the tall man kneel by
the roses, tipping the bowl and splashing the contents around the roots. He'll
go back to the grave, thought Kreeg. And once there I'll take him.
So much in life depended on luck. When the kill order came to the Guild, Kreeg
had been out of money and living off a whore in Kasyra, the gold he had earned
from killing the Ventrian merchant long since vanished in the gambling dens of
the city's south side. Now Kreeg blessed the bad luck that had dogged him in
Kasyra. For all life, he knew,
11
was a circle. And it was in Kasyra that he had heard of the hermit in the
mountains, the tall widower with the shy daughter. He thought of the message
from the Guild.
Seek out a man named Dakeyras. He has a wife Danyal and a daughter Miriel. The
man has black and silver hair, dark eyes, and is tall, close to fifty years of
age. He will be carrying a small double crossbow of ebony and bronze. Kill him
and bring the crossbow to Drenan as proof of success. Move with care. The man
is Waylander. Ten thousand in gold is waiting.
In Kasyra Kreeg had despaired of earning such a fabulous sum. Then - blessed
be the gods - he had told the whore of the hunt.
There's a man with a daughter called Miriel who lives in the mountains to the
north,' she said. 'I've not seen him, but I met his daughters years ago at the
Priests' School. We learned our letters there.'
'Do you remember the mother's name?'
'I think it was something like Daneel. . . Donalia . . .'
'Danyal?' he whispered, sitting up in bed, the sheet falling from his lean,
scarred body.
That's it,' she said.
Kreeg's mouth had gone dry, his heart palpitating. Ten thousand! But
Waylander? What chance would Kreeg have against such an enemy?
For almost a week he toured Kasyra, asking about the mountain man. Fat Sheras
the miller saw him about twice a year, and remembered the small crossbow.