"Patricia A. McKillip - Riddlemaster 3 - Harpist In The Wind" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

need to know names. I could spend days searching the
cairns with my mind, but I wonтАЩt know who I am rousing.
I know many of the names of the Kings of the Three
Portions, but I donтАЩt know the lesser dead.тАЭ
тАЬI donтАЩt either,тАЭ Duac said.
тАЬWell, I know where you can find out,тАЭ Raederle
sighed. тАЬThe place I almost lived in when I was a child.
Our fatherтАЩs library.тАЭ
She and Morgon spent the rest of the day and the
evening there, among ancient books and dusty
parchments, while Duac sent to the docks for Bri Corbett.
By midnight, Morgon had tamped down in the deep of his
mind endless names of warrior-lords, their sons and far-
flung families, and legends of love, blood feuds and land
wars that spanned the history of An. He left the house
then, walked alone through the still summer night into the
fields behind the kingтАЩs house, which were the charnel
house for the many who had died battling over Anuin.
There he began his calling.
He spoke name after name, with the fragments of
legend or poetry that he could remember, with his voice
and his mind. The dead roused to their names, came out of
the orchards and woods, out of the earth itself. Some rode
at him with wild, eerie cries, their armor aflame with
moonlight over bare bones. Others came silently: dark,
grim figures revealing terrible death wounds. They sought
to frighten him, but he only watched them out of eyes that
had already seen all he needed to fear. They tried to fight
him, but he opened his own mind to them, showed them
glimpses of his power. He held them through all their
challenging, until they stood ranged before him across an
entire field, their awe and curiosity forcing them out of
their memories to glimpse something of the world they
had been loosed into.
Then he explained what he wanted. He did not expect
them to understand Hed, but they understood him, his
anger and despair and his land-love. They gave him fealty
in a ritual as old as An, their moldering blades flashing
greyly in the moonlight. Then they seeped slowly back
into the night, into the earth, until he summoned them
again.
He stood once again in a quiet field, his eyes on one
still, dark figure who did not leave. He watched it
curiously; then, when it did not move, he touched its
mind. His thoughts were filled instantly with the living
land-law of An.
His heart pounded sharply against his ribs. The King
of An walked slowly toward him, a tall man robed and
cowled like a master or a wraith. As he neared, Morgon
could see him dimly in the moonlight, his dark brows