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

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE .......................................................................................... 259
Gate Fall and New Day's Dawning, North ................................................................ 259
EPILOGUE ................................................................................................................. 265
Es City, Estcarp ......................................................................................................... 265
PROLOGUE ONE
Escore-Alizon Border
Simon Tregarth reined in his Torgian stallion beneath the heavy dull gray of the threatening sky.
This was wild country with little in it to attract the eyeтАФrather, one looked from side to side with a rising
sense of caution. His own inborn talent of foreseeing, limited as that was compared to the Powers which
could be wielded by those about him, had been awake and pricking him since they had broken camp this
morning. There was undoubtedly trouble awaiting them aheadтАФbut where did it not wait in this land of
ancient sorcery and struggling Powers?

This was not only a gray-beclouded morning; even as far north as they had ridden it was also
humid, tempting a man to rid himself of helm and mail, to reach more than was prudent for the saddle
flask of water.

"You can always smell itтАФevil cannot rid itself of its taint!" A younger rider joined him on the
hillock, from which they could see the rising land before them. Even time and erosion had not been
enough to disguise the fact that the undulating strip of land edging the foothills had once known the
control of manтАФor something else as determined to wring what was wanted from nature.

Simon grinned at his eldest son. Kyllan was a warrior first, but he was also talented to some
degree. His helm side veils of mail lay pushed back on his broad shoulders and his head was lifted, his
nostrils expanded as if indeed he were following some quarry, hound fashion.

*Some evil lingers тАФ but not born of our time.* The animal Kyllan bestrode also held its head
high. A Renthan of the Green Valley, Wegan was no less intelligent than his human companions.

"A trap?" Simon crossed thought patterns with the Renthan.

*No тАФ * Then that thought was broken. *Gray Ones!* Wegan's warning shrilled through the
minds of both the men.

Simon did not question in the least that warning, even though his own senses тАФ sight, hearing,
scent тАФ caught nothing to betray evil ahead.

The warning had carried also to the rest of their scouting party. They were a mixed lot, but such
could be always raised in Escore these days. For in the very ancient home of the Power-born there was
a stirring, a sense that the age-long sleep had been broken, perhaps forever. Their party had struck out
today because of vague warnings тАФ vague so far. But those keeping the wards were ever alert to the
least shift detected by talent.

So in their group rode three of the Green Valley who had held so long only to their own safe
refuge: Hatturan, Varse, and Jonka. Beside their Renthans strode the war Torgians of the Old Race who
had returned from exile: Yonan and Urik of the Axe, both of whom had known Escore as once it had
been; Sentkar, a drifter from the Border wars; Denner out of Lormt; and one who had added himself
brazenly to the squad on the second day after they had left their base camp тАФ Keris, Kyllan's son.

Now that youth stirred in his saddle, and his hand jerked a little in the direction of his sword hilt.