"David Gemmell - Rigante 2 - Midnight Falcon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

MIDNIGHT FALCON
BANTAM PRESS
LONDON тАв NEW YORK тАв TORONTO тАв SYDNEY тАв AUCKLAND
 Dedication

During my schooldays I observed many teachers. Some were good, some were bad, and some were inept beyond
belief. But only one was great. Midnight Falcon is dedicated with enormous affection to Tony Fenelon, a teacher
of the old school, tough, uncompromising, and devoted to the children in his care. His belief in us gave us belief
in ourselves. Those of us who were heading in the wrong direction owe him more than we can ever repay.
 Acknowledgements

Grateful thanks to the many test readers who helped steer me through the tough times, especially Jan Dunlop,
Alan Fisher, Stella Graham, and Steve Hutt. Thanks also to my copy-editor, Nancy Webber, and to the many
readers whose letters and e-mails are a constant source of inspiration.
Chapter One........................................................................................................................................ 5
Chapter Two..................................................................................................................................... 16
Chapter Three ................................................................................................................................... 30
Chapter Four..................................................................................................................................... 39
Chapter Five ..................................................................................................................................... 52
Chapter Six....................................................................................................................................... 60
Chapter Seven .................................................................................................................................. 73
Chapter Eight.................................................................................................................................... 88
Chapter Nine .................................................................................................................................. 100
Chapter Ten .................................................................................................................................... 111
Chapter Eleven ............................................................................................................................... 124
Chapter Twelve .............................................................................................................................. 136
Chapter Thirteen............................................................................................................................. 147
Chapter Fourteen ............................................................................................................................ 159
Chapter Fifteen ............................................................................................................................... 167
Chapter Sixteen .............................................................................................................................. 173
Epilogue ......................................................................................................................................... 182
 Chapter One
Parax the Hunter had always despised vanity in others. But he knew now just how stealthily it could creep up on
a man. The thought was as cold and bitter as the wind blowing over the snowcapped peaks of the Druagh
mountains. From his saddlebag Parax drew a woollen cap, which he pulled over his thinning white hair. His old
eyes gazed up at the majesty of Caer Druagh, oldest mountain, but he could no longer make out the sharp, jagged
ridges, nor the distant stands of pine. All he could see now was the misty whiteness of the peaks against the
harsh, grainy blue of the sky.
His weary pony stumbled, and the old man grabbed at the pommel of his saddle. He patted the pony's neck
and gently drew rein. The beast was eighteen years old. She had always been strong and steadfast - a mount to be
trusted. Not any more. Like Parax she was finding this one hunt too many.
The old man sighed. At thirty he had been at the peak of his powers, one of the foremost trackers in all the
lands of the Keltoi. It did not make him boastful, for he knew he had been gifted with keen eyes and an intuitive
mind. His own father, himself a great hunter and tracker, had taught him well. At five the young Parax could
identify over thirty different animals by track alone: the leaping otter, the ambling badger, the cunning fox, and
many more. His talent had been almost mystical. Men said he could read a man's life in the blade of grass
crushed beneath a boot heel. This was nonsense, of course, but Parax had smiled upon hearing it, not recognizing
the birth of vanity in that smile. What was true, however, was his ability to read a man from the trail he left;
where he made his camp and placed his fire showed how well or little he understood the wilderness, how often
he rested his mount, how swiftly he moved, how patient he was in the hunt. All these things spoke of a man's