"Mercedes Lackey - Flights of Fantasy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

of his mantle so that it billowed like dark wings. And then suddenly it was
wings, as the cloak separated into a host of ravens that swirled across the
sky.
The old man turned, and his figure grew until he towered into the heavens. But
now he wore mail and a helmet, and he had only one eye. His staff had become a
spear, pointing back toward the farm.
"Look to the ravens. They will be your guides. . . ."
From that time, Bui recovered rapidly, being young and hardened by work on the
farm. He followed the vale upstream to the edge of the
earth had formed a small cave which could be unproved with stones and turves
until it kept out the rain. He twisted twigs of dwarf willow into a weir to
trap fish, and fashioned a sling with which he could bring down birds that
came to the lake on the fell. With a fire drill and a great deal of patience
he was able to make a fee which he kept smoldering in the cave.
For the moment, Bui was surviving. The reasonable thing would be to make his
way to some other farm and take service there before winter came. But he
dreamed sometimes that he heard his mother weeping, and could not bring
himself to leave Hrafnfjall.
When he had been on the fell for a moon, he had the fortune to find a strayed
ewe caught
among the stones. Swiftly he slit its throat with his belt knife and began to
butcher it, saving every part of the animal he might be able to use. It was a
messy job, and as he finished, it occurred to him that anyone who came
searching for the animal would find the remains and him, as well.
A familiar "whoosh" of wings overhead brought his head up. Swearing, he looked
for a stone, then paused, frowning, for this raven was a stranger, smaller and
scruffier than the territorial pair, with a distinctive white spot upon its
tail. It hopped forward and then back again, avid and wary at the same time.
Ravens, thought Bui, could pick the sheep's carcass so clean no one would be
able to tell how it had died. He sawed off a hunk of fat and tossed it toward
the bird.
The raven exploded into the air in a flurry of black wings, circled once, then
flew away westward over the fell, emitting a peculiar cry rather like a yell.
Bui watched it go in disappointment, then finished bundling the meat into the
sheepskin, shouldered it, and made his way back to the cave. He fashioned a
rack in the back of the cavern to smoke the meat, and that night-he ate cooked
mutton for the first time in over a moon.
The next day Bui went back to the carcass, dropping to hands and knees as he
approached and taking care to remain unseen. It had occurred to him that the
raven he had seen might be a young one, without the insolent confidence
of the territorial pair, and he did not want to frighten it away.
He need not have bothered. There were no birds to be seen. Then he looked
again and grinned. Raven tracks showed everywhere, and the carcass had been
picked clean. On the ground before him lay a black feather. Bui picked it up
and stood for a long time, stroking the smooth vane.
Bui realized that he had decided to stay on the fell the day he found the body
of the man. It had been there a long time, and there was little to be
scavenged from the clothes. The shaft of the spear had rotted away, but the
point, though rusted, was still whole, as was the head of the ax that had been
thrust through the man's