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

beside her.
'Getting stronger. I'd like you to sit with him.' The old man is troubled, but trying to hide
it, she thought. Resisting the urge to flow into his mind, she waited for him to speak
again. 'He is a fighter, perhaps even a brigand. I just don't know. It was our duty to help
him, but the question is: Will he prove a danger to us as he grows stronger? Is he a killer?
Is he wanted by the Crusaders? Could we find ourselves in trouble for harbouring him?
Will you help me?'
'Oh, Jeremiah,' said Isis, softly. 'Of course I will help you. Did you doubt it?'
He reddened. 'I know you don't like to use your talent on people. I'm sorry I had to ask.'
'You're a sweet man,' she said, rising. Dizziness swept over her and she stumbled.
Jeremiah caught her, and she felt swamped by his concern. Slowly strength returned to
her, but the pain had now started in her chest and stomach. Jeremiah lifted her into his
arms and walked back towards the wagons where Dr Meredith ran to them. Jeremiah sat
her down in the wide rocking-chair by the fire, while Meredith took her pulse. тАШIтАЩm all
right now,' she said. 'Truly.'
Meredith's slender hand rested on her brow, and it took all her concentration to blot out
the intensity of his feelings for her. 'I'm all right!'
'And the pain?' he asked.
'Fading,' she lied. 'I just got up too quickly. It is nothing.'
'Get some salt,' Meredith told Jeremiah. When he returned Meredith poured it into her
outstretched palm. 'Eat it,' he commanded.
'It makes me feel sick,' she protested, but he remained silent and she licked the salt from
her hand. Jeremiah passed her a mug of water, and she rinsed her mouth.
'You should rest now,' said Meredith.
'I will, soon,' she promised. Slowly she stood. Her legs took her weight and she thanked
both men. Anxious to be away from their caring glances she moved to Jeremiah's wagon
and climbed inside, where the wounded man was still sleeping.
Isis pulled up a chair and sat down. Her illness was worsening, and she sensed the
imminence of death.
Pushing such thoughts from her mind, she reached out, her small hand resting on the
fingers of the sleeping man. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to fall into his
memories, floating down and down through the layers of manhood and adolescence,
absorbing nothing until she reached childhood.
Two boys, brothers. One shy and sensitive, the other bois-' terous and rough. Caring
parents, farmers. Then the brigands came. Bloodshed and murder, the boys escaping.
Torment and tragedy affecting them both in different ways, the one becoming a brigand,
the other . . .
Isis jerked back to reality, all thoughts of her illness forgotten now as she stared down at
the sleeping man. 'I am staring into the face of a legend,' she thought. Once more she
merged with the man.
The Jerusalem Man, haunted by the past, tormented by thoughts of the future, riding
through the wild lands, seeking. . . a city? Yes, but much more. Seeking an answer,
seeking a reason for being. And during his search stopping to fight brigands, tame towns,
kill the ungodly. Riding endlessly through the lands, welcome only when his guns were
needed, urged to move on when the killing was done.
Isis pulled back once more, dismayed and depressed - not just by the memories of
constant death and battle, but by the anguish of the man himself. The shy, sensitive child
had become the man of violence, feared and shunned, each killing adding yet another
layer of ice upon his soul. Again she merged.
She/he was being attacked, men running from the shadows. Gunfire. A sound behind