"Andre Norton - Witch World High Halleck 7 - Gryphon In Glory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

I drew the dart gun for which I had but little ammunition, took Bural's reins
into my left hand. Swordplay I would trust to only as a last resort.
Now I smelled it also, hanging heavily entrapped in the mist, wood smoke! We
could not be too far from a fire.
Before I could silence her, Bural uttered a loud whinnyтАФand was answered!
There
was no holding her wiry strength, though my tight grasp on the reins brought
her
head around. She bucked and kicked out. Our struggle carried us into an open
space where the wall came to an abrupt end.
In the murk there was a ruddy glow which must mark a fire. I saw a shape,
well-veiled by the mist, coining from it toward me. As I brought up the dart
gun, Bural broke away and went trotting straight to the fog-muted flames.
I dared not be set afoot in the wilderness, so must get the mare back, though
that fire, in this place, was likely tended by enemies rather than friends.
No
refugees would have willingly chosen these barren heights as their road.
The one coming toward me swung aside to let Bural pass, making no attempt to
catch at her dangling reins. TallтАФplainly a man. Now I could see he carried
bared steel. I must hold my own fire until I had a better target, for he
probably went mailed.
I had seen death and had been ready to kill. But then my actions had been in
defense, for myself or the lives of others. To shoot coolly thus, I
discovered,
was a difficult thing.
"Jervon!" A hollow call came from the ruddy blotch of flames behind the
advancing man. He did not turn his head, but he stopped and stood, his sword
still in his hand. All I could see of his face beneath the rim of his helm was
a
whitish blur, for as he halted, so did I, still and waiting.
Another came out of the fog, near to the height of the man but more slender.
The
newcomer held out both hands, shoulder high, palm out, in the age old sign
for
truce. Passing the man, that second stranger approached me confidently as if
we
were kin meeting.
The mail this warrior wore had a strange bluish hue, as if fashioned of a
different metal. I slowly lowered the dart thrower, yet did not slide it back
into the loop on my belt. Now the mist ceased to mask all so completely and I
was looking into a face browned by the sun, yet of delicately cut feature. I
was
fronting not another man but a woman going armed like myself.
Her hands dropped, but not to draw a weapon, rather so her forefingers
sketched
in the damp air a sign. I saw that symbol gleam sharp and clear for a space
of
three or four breaths and then fade. It was blueтАФyet partly greenтАФand I knew
it
for a manifestation of Power.