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

Borderer had drawn a flap over his quiver as if those remaining shafts must be protected from the rain.

Keris swallowed and then dared to ask the question he had held since he saw the bow in action.

"Is -- is that -- your arrows -- of the old days?"

Denner was young enough to glance at his questioner with a trace of superiority. "Their making is
one of the finds of Lord Duratan. They are very hard to fashion. We do not perhaps know the full
process. But -- you have seen what they can do."

"Yes -- " Keris was answering when the message came, strong enough so even those untalented
could understand.

Ahead -- it was very necessary to get ahead at all possible speed. Simon no longer tried to take
a trail which would lead them as far from potential ambushes as possible. Instead he gave the Torgian its
will and let it move into an increasing canter. Kyllan dropped behind, surveying the rest of their parry. His
eyes lit on his son, but there was no recognition in them -- Keris might have been any of the force under
command.

They were almost across the plain. The mossy vegetation appeared to soak up the rain in a
sponge fashion, slowing their pace, but Simon was pushing now.

The first of the foothills lay before them after what seemed an endless flight of time. And ahead, in
spite of the storm, flared a orange-red glow. It seemed to be centered in space between two of the hills.

"Alizonderns!" came a warning from Jonka riding to the west. "But they are not on the move.
Their hounds are in leash and they watch what lies ahead."

Jonka was joined by Varse. The two Valley warlocks, with Renthans as powerful in their own
way, would give adequate warning were those hated westerners to descend to take a hand in this.
Alizonderns were enemies to be respected.

With the steady, slowly brightening glow of light ahead, even Keris could pick it up now--that
foul emanation which steamed forth from any invoking of the high lore of the Dark. He saw Denner
uncover his quiver.

It would seem that whoever or whatever lay ahead had some influence over the weather, for the
pelt of rain suddenly ceased as if they had come under an unseen roof, though there was no lightening of
the clouds overhead.

Simon slid out of the saddle and Kyllan nodded as he caught the reins of the Torgian his father
handed him. This was the old, old game Simon had played now for many more years than he wanted to
count. His booted feet sank ankle-deep in the wet moss as he moved forward, using every bit of cover.

The mush of the moss lasted only for a few feet and then Simon felt the rise of more solid footing.
He planned to half circle the rise to his right, trusting he could find a point from which he could see. The
Valley men and their mounts could pick up any communication he would need to make. But--for one
moment only--he held in mind the picture of another, her dark hair, her proud head high: Jaelithe. During
the past year, as they had helped to police Escore, he and Jaelithe had often been apart--but never
could he feel that something of himself was missing. Now she--