"Andre Norton - WW - Secrets 03 - The Warding of Witch World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

"I tell you" -- Destree had her voice under better control now -- "the Lady's hand stretches out
to this one." She tried to sign the truth of that by reaching behind her to where Gruck leaned weakly
against the stone. Her fingertips were fretted by alien fur.

"This thing is a killer. Protect it at your own peril, Voice. If you would have any one in this valley
heed you an' th' words of your Lady 'ereafter, you will stand aside."

She could read only a shadow of doubt in a few faces. They were as one on this. Yet her duty
had been set upon her. Destree drew a deep breath as she tried to summon words which might break
their resolve.

What came was something far different. A huge furred hand shot out and gripped her. She
smelled the strange odor of alien flesh sharpened by fear. But there was only an instant for them to cling
together so.

The blast which beat down upon them all was none of the Lady's calling. Destree knew that,
before her senses reeled and she clung to her strange companion even as it held to her. This was strange
magic, raw, without a check.

Her throat filled with bile as she saw men tossed about like straws in a tempest. The whole world
split apart. Not the Lady's doing, no. Nor, she was certain, did Gruck have aught to do with this. Gate
-- had the gate which had captured this refugee gone as wild as that gate at the Port of Lost Ships when
they put an end to it? No, something within her -- perhaps the Lady reaching through the torment of
assaulting magic -- assured her. This was the beginning of something else -- something such as no
record she knew of listed.

Its mind-blinding attack ended. Dimly Destree saw the men of the hunt helping each other to their
feet. One of them took up the injured hound. Then they turned and went away as if both Destree and
their quarry had ceased to exist.

CHAPTER ONE
The Ingathering at Es City
The city was old, even beyond the imagining of the most fanciful. It was and it had simply always
been. No one raised questions concerning the time of its youth; they were too awed by the feeling of
leaden age which seemed to breathe from each worn stone. That Power had gone into its erection, from
the pentagon citadel which was its core to the smallest of the houses clustering inward toward that
promise of protection was known. It was and it would continue to be.

Yet for the first time there was a questioning which grew with each day. For parts of Es which
had slumbered dourly through generations were being refurbished. More and more weary travelers
arrived along each of the highways feeding into the four great gates.

This was no festival time. Those who had lived quietly, mostly in peace during the passing of one
long year to the next, had no part in this ingathering. Tradesmen came to the fore of their booths, their
apprentices and children edging out carefully into the streets, while the upper window curtains were
looped far back so that the women and elders, usually within, did not miss the sight of such strangers,
their mounts, their apparel, their followers.

There was no cheering, as might have arisen to greet the safe return of champions, but rather a