"David Gemmell - Knights Of Dark Renown" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

тАШLet it be over,тАЩ he said, reaching up to release the helm, but his fingers froze as fear
flowed in him. The spell had been cast by Ollathair in this room six years before - but
without the wizard, was the peace of the chapel enough to remove it? Manannan calmed
himself. His finger touched the spring-lock, but the bar did not move. He pressed harder,
then dropped his hand. Fear fled from the onset of his anger: тАШWhat more do you want of
me?тАЩ he screamed. Sinking to his knees he prayed for deliverance, but although his
thoughts streamed out, there was no sense of their reaching a destination. Exhausted, he
rose - a knight without armour. Moving to his pack, he dressed swiftly in well-fitting
woollen trews and leather tunic, then looped his baldric over his shoulder with the sword
and scabbard nestling at his right side. Finally he pulled on a pair of soft doeskin riding
boots and gathered his blanket. The pack he left where it lay.
Outside the stallion was cropping grass at the far wall. The man who had been a knight
walked past the beast and on to the smithy. It too was dust-covered, the tools rusted and
useless, the great bellows torn and tattered, the forge open - a nesting-place for rats.
Manannan picked up a rusted saw-blade. Even had it been gleaming and new, it would
have been useless to him. The silver steel of the helm was strong enough in its own right,
but with the added power of OllathairтАЩs enchantment it was impervious to everything but
heat. He had once endured two hours of agony as a smith sought to burn the bar loose. At
last, defeated, the craftsman had knelt before him.
тАШI could do it, sir, but there would be no point. The heat needed would turn your flesh to
liquid, your brain to steam. You need a sorcerer, not a smith.тАЩ
And he had found sorcerers, and would-be wizards, seers and Wyccha women. But none
could counter the spell of the Armourer.
тАШI need you, Ollathair,тАЩ said the Once-Knight. тАШI need your wizardry and your skills. But
where did you go?тАЩ
Ollathair had been above all a patriot. He would not have left the realm unless forced.
And who could force the Armourer of the Gabala Knights? Manannan sat silently among
the rusted remains of OllathairтАЩs equipment and fought to remember conversations of
long ago.
Considering the size of the empire it had once ruled, the lands of the Gabala were not
large. From the borders of Fomoria in the south to the coastal routes to Cithaeron was a
journey of less than a thousand miles. East to west, from the Nomad steppes to the
western sea and Asripur, was a mere four hundred. One fact was sure - Ollathair would
avoid cities; he had always hated the marble monstrosity of Furbolg.
Where then? And under what guise?
Ollathair had been merely the name chosen by the Armourer, but there was another name
he used when wishing to travel alone and unreported. Manannan had discovered this by
chance ten years before, during a visit to the northernmost of the nine Duchies. He had
stopped at a wayhouse and seen the owner showing off a small bird of shining bronze that
sang in four languages. As the man lifted his hand, the bird circled the room and a sweet
perfume filled the air.
Manannan had approached the man, who had bowed low upon seeing the Gabala armour.
тАШWhere did you come by the bird?тАЩ he had asked.
тАШIt was not stolen, sir, I promise you. On the lives of my children.тАЩ
тАШI am not here to judge you, man. It was merely a question.тАЩ
тАШIt was a traveller, sir ... two days ago. A stocky man, ugly as sin. He had no money for a
room and paid with this. Am I right to keep it?тАЩ
тАШKeep it, sell it; it is not my concern. Where did this traveller go?тАЩ
тАШSouth, sir. Along the Royal Road.тАЩ
тАШDid he give you a name?тАЩ