"Raymond Kaminski - The Amazons of Somelon v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kaminski Raymond)

"Not if I was presented with the choice, old man. But you could have been split into bookends before I found out who you were."

"What's happened to those celebrated Somelon senses? Do the troubadours lie? Why, my stiff ears knew it was you as soon as they heard those big feet clomping on the roof of my underground lair."

"How would you like one of those big feet in your big mouth?" The laugh came full now. She took fire out of her bag in order to see his face. Somehow, she didn't remember it having quite so many wrinkles. Both his eyebrows and hair were frosted with a fine coating of dust. "Get something to burn. We'll make a fire. I have some meat."

"Are you sure? A fire will be seen for miles."

"Of course I'm sure, old man. No one's on my trail. I'm doing the chasing. The hare doesn't even know the hound has the scent."

"Not yet he don't."

The years had made them shy of each other, so they sat on opposite sides of the kindling and peat, issuing instructions, demonstrating, fanning, as though neither had ever lit a fire before. Once the meat began to roast, dripping flares of fat, their flinches were a bit too exaggerated to be comfortable.

Sheryl took only a small chunk of the beef. She munched it slowly, with delicate bites, letting Kryl get way ahead of her, for he looked to be a stranger to food. Anyway, she wanted to look over while he was busy eating. The fire's glow spread reverently over Kryl's ancient face as though it feared the brittle skin might crack even under, the softest glance of light: Tentatively, it touched his chin, then his forehead, though it dared not enter the hollows of his cheeks, the deep furrows of his brow. Even light wasn't bold enough to penetrate the secrets clawed into his face by so many years.

"You look terrible," she scolded. "When I last saw you-"

"When you last saw me!" He blew the words out of his nose, wiping his mouth with a bony, dusty arm. "When you last saw me, your baby fat had melted away to leave you a broom handle topped with cracked straw. Now you are a Somelon warrior, and the stories of your exploits arrive a week before you do, reaching even my god forsaken hovel. When you last saw me, my hair was pitch black and shorn as close as an autumn lamb. My too-often-fed body was draped with silk robes embroidered with silver dragons and girdled with the golden cords of the magi." Kryl pulled the shreds of his clothes together. "Much has changed since you last saw me."

"My father is dead." Her eyes jerked toward the darkness, denying any responsibility for the words. In the distance, the lights of another caravan bobbed like a fleet of ships crossing a low sea.

"I know." The old man's voice was even. He dropped the rest of the meat into the flames and chewed for a long time before being able to swallow what was already in his mouth.

"You should have eaten all of it. It would give you back your strength."

"Strength? Why do I need strength? I'm no warrior. I'm not chasing anyone, except maybe your father, and maybe I'll catch up with him soon."

"You knew about his death, yet you didn't come."

"Come where?" His eyes shot up and pinned her. "I knew your father while he was a man. What did that have to do with some rotting hunk of flesh he discarded? We shared many goblets of aral wine in our time, so many that I still have the headaches when I wake up in the morning. Why should I come now? I was there when you were born, when your father's hands shook so bad he couldn't even close his fingers. It was I who pulled you out of your mother's womb. It was I who tied the cord and cut it with my own teeth while your little feet kicked me in the face because you were so modest, embarrassed at letting me see you naked." There was a gleam floating in his eye. He might have expected her to blush. She did not.

"I was there when your sister died. I was there the night the Horlas came, when your mother-"

Kryl's mouth raced so quickly through the past that, when his ears eventually caught up, he broke off abruptly. Minutes passed. When finally he spoke again, his voice could barely be heard above the crackling fire.

"I gave you and your father all I could when you needed it. Now he is dead, and you don't need anyone's help. You've grown strong, stronger than any of us."

"Then it's my turn to help you." Sheryl moved around the fire to sit closer to him.

"It's too late for that. If you'd been here two years ago, you might have chased the Horlas away. As it was, they stripped off my robes and took my horse. Then, just for fun, they shattered the bones in my legs. They took turns with the club. They enjoyed hearing me scream. I'm a good screamer. They enjoyed watching me crawl. And they wouldn't kill me, even when I begged them to. I guess I'm not a good beggar. Anyway, it would have spoiled their sport."

Kryl pulled back the tattered skirt of his lizard-skin robe to show the two gnarled stumps growing out of his hips. Then he lifted the flap of hair on the right side of his head. The ear was gone.

"Yes, I survived, Sheryl. I was too much of a coward to die alone. I burrowed into the ground like a gopher to escape Shamask, our enemy. At night, I slither out to grab whatever runs by. I eat it, no matter what it is. I can't afford to be choosy."

"I'm sorry, Kryl." She put a hand out to touch one of the stumps. He slapped it away.

"A Somelon is never sorry, Sheryl. Didn't your mother teach you that?"