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

There was no need for one man to give an order to another in such a struggle as this. And those from the
Valley were used to handling such threats. Even so, Simon took aim and fired a second dart тАФ not at the
leader of the pack this time but at one who skulked behind his fellows for some reason.

The creature leaped into the air, twisted oddly in upon itself, and crashed flat into the mosslike vegetation
which carpeted the plain.

That might have been a signal. Yowling threats, the pack drew back, plainly unwilling. And, against their
usual custom, two of them picked up the last downed, though they left two other bodies behind them.

The mist appeared to grow thicker. Kyllan unleashed what power he had and linked with the Valley
scouts. Together they were able to weave a probe тАФ not that it could do more than just let them know
for sure what they already guessed: that there was some Dark Power ahead which was determined to
keep its territory inviolate.

It was Urik, his great axe out of his shoulder sling, who swung his Torgian around, but Keris moved with
the swifter agility of youth. One of the mounds before them had cracked open as if some planted seed
was fiercely inspired to reach the upper world. From the riven soil emerged Sarn Riders, their reptilian
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steeds' necks stretched to full length so that they could threaten with green-streaked fangs. As did the
Valley dwellers, the Sarn Riders carried whips with dark lashes тАФ but the force from those was not
marked by flame, rather by shadows. Shadows which could bite and tear and eat away the skin.

Simon shot, though he knew that there was little chance of his bolt dart going home. There was always
speculation that the Sarn Riders were not altogether material as this world knew that state of nature.

He was aware that Kyllan, Sentkar, and Yonan were drawing swords. And the swords forged in the
Valley had more than just a cutting edge to protect their wielders.

Denner had bent a bow. He was a famous shot, Simon knew, but an arrow against these devils was only
a shaft of little power. As had Simon, he coolly picked a target and shot.

A Sarn lash flicked skyward so fast it was a mere trace in the air, to catch that arrow. There was a burst
of bluish fire. Then a line of flame ran down the whiplash before its owner could throw it from him, and he
doubled in upon his mount. There was no sound to be heard, but Simon swayed a little in his saddle and
Keris nearly fell from his. For the cry which had tortured their minds was enough to shake them for that
moment. And both rider and mount were now gone.

Stolidly Denner made ready a second arrow. There were, Keris noted, only five of the arrows left and
he was sure that in their way they were more precious than many a name-famed sword.

Denner was out of Lormt, that fabled cache of forgotten knowledge. When the Great Turning had kept
Estcarp from invasion from Karsten to the south, the force of the magic so deliberately unleashed scored
the earth itself and brought down one of Lormt's towers and part of the girding walls. It was revealed that
the masonry, thought to be so solid, really covered a veritable warren of sealed rooms and passages, all
of which appeared to be crammed with scrolls, books, and chests of strange instruments for which there