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

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. ButтАФfor one
moment onlyтАФhe 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 apartтАФbut never
could he feel that something of himself was missing. Now sheтАФ

Abruptly he shut off those disturbing thoughts to concentrate on matters at hand. He had indeed reached
a kind of lookout, one that Kurnous the Head Lord himself might have arranged.

But what he looked down upon was a puzzle which he strove sharply to bring into proper focus. There
were men below, right enough. A number of them were plainly Alizondern slaves born into hopeless
labor for all their lives. Only one of the white-haired, arrogant warrior class was visible, apparently sent
to oversee the labors of the others.

Equipped with massive chains and wrist-thick ropes, they had apparently drawn into this placeтАФfor the
ground was deep-rutted behind themтАФtwo massive pillars of stone. The red light which gave sight for
their labors came not from any true fire but out of a huge kettlelike cauldron around which stood three
men of another race.

Simon's lip curled. Both those of good and those of evil had survived not only the Great War of the
adepts but all the chaos thereafter. One of those men down there he knewтАФnot from any meeting
between them but because he had seen his image summoned up in smoke when Dahaun of the Green
Valley had sought danger near and distant.
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It was Rarapon, once linked with the traitor Denzil, and as eager as that damned one to regain power.
He wore the crimson robe of an adept but kept fussing with its belt and then its collar as if it did not fit.

The slaves were finishing their labor. Deep pits had been dug and now the stones were ready to be
raised by pulleys. Simon saw Rarapon make a quick gesture. The Alizondern noble nodded and clicked
his fingers. At that signal there were short struggles next to the pits ready to receive the ends of the rocks.
At each, two of the slaves turned on a third, one of their fellows, and hurled him down into the dark hole,
even as the pillar was allowed to crash into place.

Rarapon moved forward with a strut such as might be assumed by the leader of a great congregation.