"Andre Norton - WW - 27 - The Warding of the Witch World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

here, or we who had our minds open would be dead. Hilarion -- I must know --

He swung around as if he would go back at once to the tower where he had been so pent, but Eydryth
caught his arm.

"What has Hilarion to do with this? He is an adept of Old, one of the race which brought doom upon us
all in that day. Is this some new magic of his devising?"
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Alon drew her close. "Not so. I was pupil to him and he is a master of the Light. We strive now to
devise a form of communication which can cover great distances. It is my belief that perhaps such raw
power unleashed may answer our last problem. But I must know --

"We all must know." That was Kerovan. "For I think that a very wide door to the ways of the Dark may
have been opened, and that all of good need to stand together to preserve the Light."



PROLOGUE THREE

Shrine of Gunnora, South of Var

Destree n'Regnant strode back from the bathing pool, her wet towel swinging in one hand, the fingers of
the other busy with the latches of her jerkin. Destree had never been one to linger over the matter of
arising in the morning, with its attendant need for dressing, preparation of food, and the like, but she
accepted such as a matter of living.

She had slipped a silver ring over her shoulder-length fall of fair hair, tethering the locks out of the way at
the nape of her neck, though some remaining drops of water sprinkled from side to side as she walked.

Already her thoughts were well ahead of her body, busy with the known demands of the day before her.
There was the potion to be enflasked for Josephinia, whose joint pain had awakened fiercely during the
recent weeks of one storm after another, and she must swing by the Pajan farm to look upon the new
colt that was reported a weakling. But there never seemed enough time between sunrise and sunset to do
everything.

Also, this morning she had awoken with a faint troubling of mind. It was not a lingering from one of her
Lady's outright informative dreams--she would have remembered every detail of such--yet she could
not altogether forget it.

The huge black cat, sitting on the steps of the ancient shrine Destree had worked with her own hands
and strength to restore, opened his mouth in one of his silent meows. By the Lady, Chief seemed to grow
larger every season! He certainly was far more impressive than any of the farm cats of the valley.
Cleverer, too, or else the others hid what they thought from the minds of her kind. But Chief was not of
this world and so not of the native feline blood at all. With Destree he had survived the ordeals of the
Port of Dead Ships, as well as transportation through one of those strange gates. Though this particular
gate no longer existed--thanks be to the Lady and her Powers. The cat bonded with her, who was