"05 - Salamandastron UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacques Brian)

The dormouse was a jolly plump old fellow, clad in a rust-colored jerkin, his white beard curled and trimmed neatly. An infant mole, who could not sleep because of the onset of spring, sat beside him on a mossy beechlog in the orchard. Together they shared an early breakfast of oatcakes, hot from the kitchens, and two of last autumn's russet apples. Dawn was touching the earth with its rosy paws, promising sunny spring days as a compensation for the long winter Redwall Abbey had endured. Soft white clouds with golden underbellies hung on the still air, dewdrops glistened on new green grass, budding narcissus and snowdrop awaited the coming of the sun-warmed day.

The dormouse nodded sagely. "Soon be pickin' a Nameday for this good season, aye, soon."

The small mole chewed slowly at his oatcake, wrinkling a black button snout as he gazed up at the elder.

"You'm said you'm tell oi a story, zurr."

The dormouse polished an apple on his jerkin. "D'you like my stories, Burrem?"

The little fellow smiled. "Burr aye, oi serpintly do, zurr!"

His friend settled down comfortably on the grass, propping his back against the log.

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"Right then, it's a good long one. We'll have to break off for lunch and tea, supper, too, maybe. Ah well, here goes. Once upon a time ..."

Colder than the winter wind howling its dirge through the Southwest Forest.

Colder than the snow blanketing tree, rock and earth in its silent shroud.

Colder than ice that lay on water and hung in shards from branches and bushes.

Colder than these was the smile of Ferahgo the Assassin! Ferahgo was still young, but as the seasons passed his evil and infamy would grow, and everybeast would come to fear the name of the blue-eyed weasel.

His .band searched the wrecked badgers' den, scavenging and snarling over winter food and the few pitiful possessions strewn among the debris. Smiling pitilessly, Ferahgo stepped over the bodies of the slain badger Urthound and his wife Urthrun, the last two brave creatures to stand against him. Stealth and deceit, reinforced by a crew of backstabbers, were the Assassin's trademark. He had tricked the badgers into thinking this would be a peace conference. Fools!

Migroo the stoat pulled aside a heap of dried moss. "Chief, look!"

Two badger babes lay huddled together, mewling and shiv-

Brian Jacques

ering as they stuck their heads up, lips pursed in a plea for mother's milk.

Migroo laughed. "That one looks like his father, but this other one, Chief, it's white. I thought all badgers had stripes."

Ferahgo tickled their nose tips with his knifepoint. "They're both males. One is a proper badger, the other is an albino. They might not be orphans today if their parents had not resisted me."

Migroo watched the point of Ferahgo's knife. "What're yen goin* t' do with 'em?"

The Assassin shrugged and sheathed his blade. "Nothing. The winter will take care of Urthound's whelps."

Fondling the round gold medallion he had taken from the neck of Unbound, Ferahgo gave one last glance around.

"Now nobeast in the Southwest is left to oppose me. Come on, my Corpsemakers!"