"Andre Norton - Witch World - Lore of the Witch World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

beyond the wrecked mountain passages.

Men who had marched with the Borderers under Lord Simon Tregarth
or served beneath the Banners of the Witch Women of EsтАФwhere were
they? Long since, their kin had given up any hope of their return. There
had been no true peace in this land since old Nabor (who could count his
years at more than a hundred) had been in his green youth.

It was Nabor now who battled the strength of the wind to the Tor,
dragged himself up to stand, hunched shoulder to shoulder, with
Ingvarna. As she, he looked to the sea uneasily. That she expected still
their own fleet he could not believe, foresighted as all knew her to be.

Waves mounted, to pound giant fists against the rock. Nabor caught
sight of a ship rising and falling near the Serpent's dread fangs. Then a
huge swell whirled it over those sharp threats into the comparative calm
beyond. Nabor sighed with the relief of a seaman who had witnessed a
miracle, life won from the very teeth of rock death. Also, Rannock had the
right of storm wrack. If that ship survived so far, its cargo was forfeit now
to any who could bring it to shore. He half-turned to seek the shelter of the
Tor hollows, rouse Herdrek and the others with this promise of fortune.

However, Ingvarna turned her head. Through the drifts of rain her eyes
held his. There was a warning in her steady gaze. "One comesтАФ" He saw
her lips shape the words but did not hear her voice them above the roar of
wind and wave.

At the same moment, there was such a crash as equaled the drum of
thunder, the lash of lightning. The strange ship might have beaten the
menace of the reefs fangs, but now had been driven halfway up the beach,
where it was fast breaking up under the hammer blows of the surf.

Herdrek stumped out to join them. "It is a raider," he commented
during a lull of the wind. "Perhaps one of the Sea Wolves of Alizon." He
spat at the wreck below.

Ingvarna was already scrambling over the rocks toward the shore, as if
what lay there were of vast importance. Herdrek shouted after her a
warning, but she did not even turn her head. With a curse at the folly of
females, which a second later he devoutly hoped the Wise Woman had not
been able to pick out of the air, the smith followed her, two of the lads
venturing in his wake.

At least when they reached the shore level, the worst of the storm was
spent. Waves drew a torn seaweed veil around the broken vessel. Herdrek
made fast a rope about his waist, gave dire warnings to his followers to
keep a tight hold upon it. Then he ventured into the surf, using that
cordage from wind-rent sails, hanging in loops down the shattered sides,
to climb aboard.