"David Gemmell - Stones Of Power 5 - Shannow 3 - Bloodstone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

the years before the Second Satan Wars the Hellborn had produced double-action
versions of the revolver, with slightly shorter barrels, and squat, rectangular automatic
pistols and rifles that were far more accurate than these pieces. Such weapons had not
saved them from annihilation. Jeremiah had seen the destruction of Babylon. The Deacon
had ordered it razed, stone by stone, until nothing remained save a flat, barren plain. The
old man shivered at the memory.
The injured man groaned and opened his eyes. Jeremiah felt the coldness of fear as he
gazed into them. The eyes were the misty grey-blue of a winter sky, piercing and sharp,
as if they could read his soul. 'How are you feeling?' he asked, as his heart hammered.
The man blinked and tried to sit. 'Lie still, my friend. You have been badly wounded.'
'How did I get here?' The voice was low, the words softly spoken.
'My people found you on the plains. You fell from your horse. But before that you were
in a fire, and were shot.'
The man took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'I don't remember,' he said, at last.
'It happens,' said Jeremiah. The trauma from the pain of your wounds. Who are you?'
тАШI don't remem . . .'the man hesitated. 'Shannow. I am Jon Shannow.'
'An infamous name, my friend. Rest now and I will come back this evening with some
food for you.'
The injured man opened his eyes and reached out, taking Jeremiah's arm. 'Who are you,
friend?'
'I am Jeremiah. A Wanderer.'
The wounded man sank back to the bed. 'Go and cry in the ears of Jerusalem, Jeremiah,'
he whispered, then fell once more into a deep sleep.
Jeremiah climbed from the back of the wagon, pushing closed the wooden door. Isis had
prepared a fire, and he could see her gathering herbs by the riverside, her short, blonde
hair shining like new gold in the sunlight. He scratched at his white beard and wished he
were twenty years younger. The other ten wagons had been drawn up in a half-circle
around the river-bank and three other cook-fires were now lit. He saw Meredith kneeling
by the first, slicing carrots into the pot that hung above" it.
Jeremiah strolled across the grass and hunkered down opposite the lean, young academic.
'A life under the sun and stars agrees with you, doctor,' he said amiably. Meredith gave a
shy smile, and pushed back a lock of sandy hair that had fallen into his eyes.
'Indeed it does, Meneer Jeremiah. I feel myself growing stronger with each passing day.
If more people from the city could see this land there would be less savagery, I am sure.'
Jeremiah said nothing and transferred his gaze to the fire. In his experience savagery
always dwelt in the shadow of Man, and where Man walked evil was never far behind.
But Meredith was a gentle soul, and it did a young man no harm to nurse gentle dreams.
'How is the wounded man?' Meredith asked.
'Recovering, I think, though he claims to remember nothing of the fight that caused his
injuries. He says his name is Jon Shannow.'
Anger shone briefly in Meredith's eyes. 'A curse on that name!' he said.
Jeremiah shrugged. 'It is only a name.'
*
Isis knelt by the river-bank and stared down at the long, sleek fish just below the
glittering surface of the water. It was a beautiful fish, she thought, reaching out with her
mind. Instantly her thoughts blurred, then merged with the fish. She felt the cool of the
water along her flanks and was filled with a haunting restlessness, a need to move, to
push against the currents, to swim for home.
Withdrawing, she lay back . . . and felt the approach of Jeremiah. Smiling, she sat up and
turned towards the old man. 'How is he?' she asked, as Jeremiah eased himself down