"David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

expeditions. All had ended in failure and he had no expectation of greater success on this trip. The prevailing
opinion was that Communion was no longer possible. Questor Ro had argued against this, calling his colleagues
'pathetically defeatist'. His enemies, and there were many, had part-sponsored the current expedition. Their aim
was obvious: to see Questor Ro humbled. This did not seem to perturb the little man.
Turning from the ice Talaban scanned the barren plain, seeking signs of movement. Nomads still lived in the
mountains to the east. They were a savage and fierce people. With only twenty soldiers under his command
Talaban did not relish the thought of battle in this cold, lonely place.
These icy lands, once so wondrously fertile, were full of peril now. The nomads were only one of many
dangers. On the last expedition a pride of sabre-tooths had attacked a working party, killing three Vagars and
dragging off a fourth. Talaban had killed the beast as it mauled the Vagar. The victim had bled to death within
moments, the artery in his groin torn open. Then there were the krals. Not since the first expedition had they
been seen, but fear of them remained strong, and the descriptions of their ferocity had grown in the telling.
Talaban had never seen a kral, but witnesses told him of their speed and savagery. They were covered in white
fur, like a snow bear, but their faces were almost human, though incredibly bestial. Three accounts described
them as more than seven feet tall, with long upper arms. When they charged they dropped to all fours, and killed
with talons and sharp teeth.
The last of the perils, but by no means the least, lay in the herds of tuskers, who roamed the forests to the
east. Their shaggy hides protected them from the severity of the cold, and their tusks, some measuring more than
ten feet, made them dangerous adversaries. Even sabre-tooths generally avoided the mammoths - unless they
could isolate a stray.
The vast plain appeared empty. Talaban gestured to his sergeant, Methras, positioned on a hillside some 600
paces to the east. The man spread out his arms in a flat line, signalling nothing to report.
A movement out to sea caught Talaban's eye. At first he thought it was a ship, but then he saw the great back
of a blue whale lift and dip, before the sea swallowed it once more. The mystic's words came back to him again.
And now he knew that, as the tidal wave engulfed Parapolis, a whale had crashed against the Monument's crown,
ripping it away. He wondered if the little mystic had survived.

Down in the bay, sails furled, Serpent Seven was at anchor. Even here in this gentle bay the huge black ship
looked unseaworthy, her decks too high, her draught too low. Talaban sighed. Drawing his black woollen cloak
around him he strode down the hillside. Three Vagars, waiting for the ship's boat, were crouched in the shelter of
several boulders. They were wearing coats of white fur, and boots of sheepskin. Even so their lips were blue with
cold. Talaban knelt among them. 'Once there were vineyards here,' he said, 'and away to the north was a lake
where the Avatar Prime had a palace. I swam in that lake as a child, and my shoulders were burned red by the
sun.'
'The lake is ice now, lord,' said one of the Vagars, blowing into his hands. 'Everything is ice now.' His voice
was toneless and he did not look up at Talaban.
'Two more days, and then we will sail back to the city,' Talaban told them.
His words did nothing to lift their spirits and he moved away from them down to the water's edge. Chunks of
ice were floating along the shoreline. Raising his arm he signalled the ship. Instantly the silver longboat was
lowered to the surface.
Swiftly, without oar or sail, it glided through the water and Talaban could see the hunched, hooded figure of
Touchstone seated at the tiller. Talaban shivered once more. The cold was seeping into his bones now. The three
Vagars hurried down to the water's edge as the boat neared, then waited until Talaban had stepped aboard before
scrambling over the side.
'Them's cold rabbits,' said Touchstone, grinning, gesturing towards the shivering Vagars. Talaban smiled.
Touchstone pushed back his fur-lined hood, shaking free his black braids. 'Nomads are close,' he said, tapping
his nose. 'I smell them.'
The three Vagars tensed, and Talaban saw the fear in their eyes. At least they've forgotten how cold they are,
he thought.
'How close?' he asked Touchstone. 'Half a day. Twenty riders maybe. Hunting tuskers they are. They be close