"Andre Norton - Darkness and Dawn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

of sunlight washing her fur. But she was on her feet instantly as Fors got up on the mare
and turned into the heart of the ruins.
They clattered out into a burned area where the black stain of a vast, devouring fire
had not faded. There were flowers growing there among the sooty stones, yellow, white,
and blue. And a ragged, red-leafed weed overran old cellars. Cat and horse moved slowly
through the desolation, testing their footing.
On the far edge of the burned space they found the scene of that night battle. Black
birds whirred up from almost under their feet, birds which had been feasting on scraps
more powerful scavengers had left them. Fors dismounted and limped up to the trampled
grass, reluctant to make investigation.
Two well-picked piles of bones lay on the bloodstained ground. But the skulls were
not those of his own race. Those long narrow heads with the cruel yellow teeth he had
never seen before. Then the glint of metal caught his eyes and he picked up a broken
spear, the haft snapped raggedly off not far from the head. And that spear he had seen
before! It belonged to the fisherman of the islet.
Fors moved around the circle of the battlefield. He came across one more of the
strange skeletons, but, save for the spear, there was no other trace of the hunter. Lura
exhibited a violent distaste for the bonesтАФas if the odd scent which clung to them was
utterly offensive. And now she stood on her hind legs and sniffed inquiringly up the side
of a heap of bricks and stone.
So that was what had happened! The hunter had not been overwhelmed by a rush out
of the dark. He had had time to clamber up where the night-running things could not
attack in force, had been able from above to fight them off and leave the wounded and
dead to the tearing teeth of their own companions. And he must have escapedтАФsince his
bones were not in evidence.
Fors kicked through the underbrush a last time just to be sure. Something round and
brown rolled away from his toe. He reached for a small, well-polished drum fashioned of
dark wood, the stretched head of hide cured to an almost metallic smoothness. The signal
drum! Impulsively he tapped the head, and started at the low throbbing note which
echoed through the ruins.
When he rode on the drum went with him. Why he did not know, except that he was
fascinated by such a message-sending device unknown to his own people.
Within a half hour the ruins lay behind. Fors was glad to be out in the clean freedom
of the country again. All morning he rode at a leisurely pace, watching for any signs
which the hunter might leave. He was sure that the man was striking north with almost as
definite a purpose as the one which drew him in that direction. And, with the drum gone,
there would be no more signals.
The next two days were quiet. There was no indication that the Plainsmen had ever
ventured into this territory and the land was a hunters' paradise teeming with game. Fors
wasted none of his precious arrows but left the chase to Lura who enjoyed every moment
of it. He varied his diet with berries and the ripe grain which grew wild in the ancient
fields.
They avoided two more small towns, cutting around when they saw the first ruins.
The dank, moldy places had little appeal and Fors had once or twice speculated as to
what might have happened that night had he been the one caught in the open by the
hunting pack, too crippled to climb to the safety the unknown had found. Now his leg
was less painful, he walked a part of each day, stretching the muscles and toughening
tender flesh. Most of the ache was gone and soon he would be able to move as freely as
ever.
On the morning of the fourth day they came out upon a waste of sand- and windcarved