"Norton, Andre - No night without stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Andre Norton)

destruction of the buildings.
Sander sighted even from this distance what could only be a huddle of bodies
lying along the riverbank. There had been a raid, he deduced. Maybe the dreaded
Sea Sharks of the south had struck. He doubted if there was any life left in
that collection of huts.
The fire burned slowly, mainly along the riverbank and the shoreline of the
large body of water beyond. There were a few buildings seemingly still
untouched. They would have been looted, of course. Still, there was a chance
that not all of the provisions collected by those settled here had been carried
away. And this was harvest season. His own people (or those whom he had believed
to be his close kin--he grimaced at that thought) had been engaged in late season


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hunts and the drying of meat when he had ridden out.
Though the nomadic Mobs roamed the wide inner lands, Sander had heard enough
tales from the Traders to know that elsewhere men lived differently. In some
places clans had settled permanently upon the land, planting and tending food
which they grew. Here, in this near-destroyed settlement, they must also have
fished. His stomach growled and he shifted a little, surveying the scene of the
raid carefully to make sure that if he did go down he was not running into
active trouble.
Rhin whined deep in his throat, nudged Sander with his muzzle. His yellow-brown
coat was already thickening with new winter growth. Now his jaws opened a
little, his pointed tongue showed. His ears pricked as he watched the burning
buildings with the same intense stare as Sander. But he betrayed no more than
the common caution with which he approached all new situations.
His green eyes did not blink, nor did his brush of tail move. Instead he sat on
his haunches as if it did not matter that his head rose well above the sky line,
to be sighted from the town. Sander accepted Rhin's verdict of no imminent
danger--for the sly intelligence of his kind supplied information no man, with
his blunter senses, could hope to gain.
Though he got to his feet, Sander did not remount. Instead he slipped down the
ridge, using every bit of cover, Rhin like a red-yellow ghost a step or two
behind. Ready to hand, Sander carried his dart thrower, a missile notched ready
against its taut string. In addition he loosened his long knife in its leather
scabbard.
As they drew closer to the looted town, Sander's nose wrinkled at the stench of
burning and of other smells far worse. Rhin growled, sniffing. He liked that
scent no better than Sander. But at least, by his attitude, he had picked up no
hint of enemies.
Sander circled away from the riverbank where lay those blood-stained bundles,
heading toward the seemingly unharmed buildings farther inland from the shore.
He could hear the pound of waves and smell a new odor, swept toward him by a
rising wind--a strange, fresh scent. Was this indeed the sea, not just some
larger lake?
As he approached the furthermost of the buildings, he hesitated, something in
him willing against this intrusion. Only need for food forced him into an