"Michael Moorcock - Corum 1 - The Knight Of The Swords" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moorcock Michael)

As Corum reached the sweet-smelling pines and birches of the forest a wren began to sing, was answered by the croak of a rook, and both fell silent as if startled by the sounds their own throats bad made.
Corum rode on through the forest until the whisper of the sea dimmed behind him and the mist began to give way before the warming light of the rising sun. This ancient forest was familiar to him and be loved it, for it was here be had ridden as a boy and bad been taught the obsolete art of war which had been considered by his father as useful a way as any of making his body strong and quick. Here, too, he had lain through whole days watching the small animals that inhabited the forest - the tiny horselike beast of grey and yellow which had a horn growing from its forehead and was no bigger than a dog, the fan-winged gloriously coloured bird that could soar higher than the eye could see and yet which built its nests in abandoned fox and badger sets underground, the large, gentle pig with thick, curly black hair that fed on moss, and many others.
Prince Corum realised that he bad almost forgotten the pleasures of the forest, he bad spent so long inside the castle. A small smile touched his lips as he looked about him. The forest he thought, would endure for ever. Something so beautiful could not die.
But this thought put him, for some reason, in a melancholy mood and he urged his horse to a somewhat faster gait.
The horse was glad to gallop as fast as Corum desired, for
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it also knew the forest and roas enjoying the exercise. It roas a red Vadhagh horse with a blue-black mane and tail and it roas strong, tall and graceful, unlike the shaggy, wild ponies that inhabited the forest. It roas mantled in yellow velvet and hung about with panniers, two spears, a plain round shield made of different thicknesses of timber, brass, leather and silver, a long bone boro and a quiver holding a good quantity of arrows. In one of the panniers were provisions for the journey, and in another were books and maps for guidance and entertainment.
Prince Corum himself wore a conical silver helm which had his full name carved in three characters above the short peak - Corum Jhaelen Irsei - which meant Corum, the Prince in the Scarlet Robe. It roas the custom of the Vadhagh to choose a robe of distinctive colour and identify themselves by means of it, as the Nhadragh used crests and banners of greater complication. Corum wore the robe now. It had long, wide sleeves, a full skirt that roas spread back over his horse's rump, and it roas open at the front. At the shoulders roas fixed a hood large enough to go over his helmet. It had been made from the fine, thin skin of a creature that roas thought to dwell in another plane, forgotten even by the Vadhagh. Beneath the coat roas a double byrnie made up of a million tiny links. The upper layer of this byrnie roas silver and the lower layer roas of brass.
For weapons other than boro and lance, Corum bore a long-hafted Vadhagh roar-axe of delicate and intricate workmanship, a long, strong sword of a nameless metal manufactured on a different plane of the Earth, with pommel and guard worked in silver and both red and black onyx. His shirt roas of blue samite and his breeks and boots were of soft brushed leather, as roas his saddle, which roas finished in silver.
From beneath his helm, some of Prince Corum's fine,

Book one 23

silvery hair escaped and his youthful face now bore an expression that roas half introspection, half excited anticiнpation at the prospect of his first sight of the ancient lands of his kinfolk.
He rode alone because none of the castle's retainers could be spared, and he rode on horseback rather than in a carriage because he wished to make the fastest possible speed.
It would be days before he would reach the first of the several castles he must visit, but he tried to imagine how different these dwelling places of his kinfolk would be and how the people themselves would strike him. Perhaps he would even find a wife among them. He knew that, while his father had not mentioned this, it had been an extra consideration in Prince Khlonskey's mind when the old man had begged him to go on this mission.
Soon Corum had left the forest and had reached the great plain called Broggfythus where once the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh had met in bloody and mystical battle.
It had been the last battle ever fought between the two races and, at its height, it had raged through all five planes. Producing neither victor nor defeated, it had destroyed more than two thirds of each of their races. Corum had heard that there were many empty castles across Bro-an-Vadhagh now, and many empty cities in the Nhadragh Isles which lay across the water from Castle Erorn.
Towards the middle of the day Corum found himself in the centre of Broggfythus and he came to the spot that marked the boundaries of the territories he had roamed as a boy. Here roas the weed-groron wreckage of the vast sky city that, during the month-long battle of his ancestors, had careered from one plane to another, rupturing the fine fabric that divided the different dimensions of the Earth until, crashing at last upon the gathered ranks of the
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Vadhagh and the Nhadragh, it had destroyed them. Being of a different plane, the tangled metal and stone of the sky city still retained that peculiar shifting effect. Now it had the appearance of a mirage, . though the weeds, gorse and birch trees that twined around it looked solid enough.
On other, less urgent, occasions, Prince Corum had enjoyed shifting his perspective out of this plane and into another, to see different aspects of the city, but the effort took too much energy these days and at the present moment the diaphanous wreckage represented nothing more than an obstacle around which be was forced to make various detours, for it stretched in a circumference of more than twenty miles.
But at last he reached the edge of the plain called Broggfythus and the sun set and he left behind him the world he knew and rode on towards the South West, into lands he knew only from the maps he carried.
He rode steadily for three more days without pause until the red horse showed signs of tiredness and, in a little valley through which a cold stream flowed, he made camp and rested for a while.
Corum ate a slice of the light, nourishing bread of his people and sat with his back against the bole of an old oak while his horse cropped the grass of the river bank.
Corum's silver helm lay beside him, together with his axe and sword. He breathed the leafy air and relaxed as he contemplated the peaks of the mountains, blue, grey and white in the distance. This was pleasant, peaceful country and he was enjoying his journey through it. Once, he knew, it had been inhabited by several Vadhagh estates, but there was no trace of them now. It was as if they had grown into the landscape or been engulfed by it. Once or twice he had seen strangely shaped rocks where Vadhagh castles had stood, hut they had been no more than rocks. It occurred to him that these rocks were the transmogrified

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remains of Vadhagh dwellings, but his intellect rejected such an impossibility. Such imaginings were the stuff of poetry, not of reason.
He smiled at his own foofishness and settled himself more comfortably against the tree. In another three days he would be at Castle Crachah, where his sunt the Princess Lorim lived. He watched as his horse folded its legs and lay down beneath the trees to sleep and he wrapped his scarlet coat about him, raised the hood and slept also.

CHAPTER THREE

The Mabden Herd

Towards the middle of the following morning Prince Corum was awakened by sounds that somehow did not fit the forest. His horse had heard them too, for it was up and sniffing at the air, showing small signs of agitation.
Corum frowned and went to the cool water of the river to wash his face and hands. He paused, listening again. A thump. A rattle. A clank. He thought he heard a voice shouting further down the valley and be peered in that direction and thought he saw something moving.
Corum strode back to where he had left his gear and he picked up his helmet, settling it on his head, fixed his sword's scabbard to his belt, looped the axe on to his back. Then he began to saddle the horse as it lapped the river.
The sounds were stronger now and, for some reason, Corum felt disquiet touch his mind. He mounted his horse but continued to watch.
Up the valley came a tide of beasts and vehicles. Some of the creatures were clothed in iron, fur and leather. Corum
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guessed that this was a Mabden herd. From the little he had read of Mabden habits, he knew the breed to be for the urost part a migratory species, constantly on the move; as it exhausted one area it would move on, seeking fresh game and wild crops. He was surprised to note how much like Vadhagh arms and armour were the swords, shields and helmets worn by some of the Mabden.
Closer they came and still Corum observed them with intense curiosity, as he would study any unusual beast he had not previously seen.
This was a large group, riding in barbarically decorated chariots of timber and beaten bronze, drawn by shaggy horses with harness of leather painted in dull reds, yellows and blues. Behind the chariots came waggons, some open and some with awnings. Perhaps these carried females, Corum thought, for there were no females to be seen elsewhere.
The Mabden had thick, dirty beards, long sweeping moustaches and matted hair flowing out from under their helurets. As they moved, they yelled at each other and passed wineskins from hand to hand. Astonished, Corum recognised the language as the common tongue of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh, though much corrupted and harshened. So the Mabden had learned a sophisticated form of speech.
Again came the unaccountable sense of disquiet. Corum backed his horse into the shadows of the trees, continumg to watch.