"03 - The Sailor On The Sea of Fate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

the rain fall upon his face, listening to the complex,
melancholy music which the sea made as it washed over
rocks and shingle and was carried this way and that by
conflicting currents. The rain did little to refresh him. He
had not slept at all for two nights and had slept hardly at
all for several more. He must have ridden for almost a
week before his horse collapsed.

At the base of a damp granite crag which rose nearly thirty
feet above his head, he found a depression in the ground in
which he could squat and be protected from the worst of
the wind and the rain. Wrapping his heavy cloak tightly

about him, he eased himself into the hole and was
immediately asleep. Let them find him while he slept. He
wanted no warning of his death.

Harsh, grey light struck his eyes as he stirred. He raised his
neck, holding back a groan at the stiffness of his muscles,
and he opened his eyes. He blinked. It was morning
- perhaps even later, for the sun was invisible - and a cold
mist covered the beach. Through the mist the darker clouds
could still be seen above, increasing the effect of his being
inside a huge cavern. Muffled a little, the sea continued to
splash and hiss, though it seemed calmer than it had done
on the previous night, and there were now no sounds of a
storm. The air was very cold.

Elric began to stand up, leaning on his sword for support,
listening carefully, but there was no sign that his enemies
were close by. Doubtless they had given up the chase,
perhaps after finding his dead horse.

He reached into his belt pouch and took from it a sliver
of smoked bacon and a vial of yellowish liquid. He sipped
from the vial, replaced the stopper and returned the vial to
his pouch as he chewed on the meat. He was thirsty. He
trudged further up the beach and found a pool of rainwater
not too tainted with salt. He drank his fill, staring around
him. The mist was fairly thick and if he moved too far from
the beach he knew he would become immediately lost. Yet
did that matter? He had nowhere to go. Those who had
pursued him must have realized that. Without a horse he
could not cross back to Pikarayd, the most easterly of the
Young Kingdoms. Without a boat he could not venture
onto that sea and try to steer a course back to the Isle of
the Purple Towns. He recalled no map which showed an
eastern sea and he had little idea of how far he had
travelled from Pikarayd. He decided that his only hope of