"Andrew J. Offutt - Cormac 01 - The Mists of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

And then another of the gathered enemy leaped forward, and tore free that much-blooded spear, the
gau-buaid, and hurled it even as Cormac whipped up his fine team of horsesтАФ
No! Not Cormac; no son of Art was he, with sword of blue-grey steel by side, but him born Setalta and later
called the hound of the smith, ChulanтАФCuchulain he was, and battling the enemy who had never forgot the
terrible War of the two bulls, the Brown of Cuailgne and the White-horned of Cruachan Ai. And the spear
drove into one of his chariot horses, the finest in all the land, even the Grey of Macha, King of the horses of
Eirinn, and him having served Cuchulain so long and so well. And he, he, Cormac who was Cuchulain, cried
out, for it was another friend heтАЩd lost this day, and life and time were closing on him the way that in his
anguished mind he heard anew the druidтАЩs words of his youth:
тАЬIf any young man should be taking up arms this day, his name will be greater than any other name in Eirrin.
But his span of life will be short.тАЭ And the boy Cuchulain had immediately gone and taken up arms, aye and
reddened them that day, and too he had sworn his oath of glory: тАЬI swear by the oath of my people that I will
make my deeds to be spoken of among the great deeds of heroes in their strength.тАЭ
And indeed his name became thereafter, greater than any in all Eirrin, in Emain Macha or Uladh or Laigen
that was Leinster, or Cruachan Ai to become Connacht, or Tuathmumain that was become Munster.
Then, while in the midst of the enemy he anguished over the Gray of Macha that lay kicking before his chariot
so that it tore free of pole and harness, he of the enemies of Cuchulain whose name was Lugaid hurled his
throwing-spear of enchantment, and Cuchulain grunted and was staggered at feel of the terrible blow.
(By the fire in the wood of Connacht, young Cormac jerked and groaned so that his companions asked in
concern if he had wounds on him that did not show.)
He looked down then, he who was not yet Cormac for centuries were in the way of it, and he felt the cold that
came after the blow to his body, and he saw then that the spear had gone into him. In anger rather than
horror he tore it from his middle, for it was long and did tug heavily at him. But then, liberated, his bowels
began to coil out onto the cushions of his chariot. Down fell his arm that held Dubhan his shield, and he could
not force his other hand to draw forth Cruaidin Calcidheann, the Hard, Hard-headed One, his great bronze
sword of so many deeds, and the Hound of Chulan knew then that his lifeтАЩs span would indeed be short. For
Lugaid had surely given him his deadly wound.
Then did his other horse and companion of so many battles strain, and find that his partner was loose of the
chariot, and the Black Sanglain lunged forward into a gallop so that had not Cuchulain gripped the chariot
before him heтАЩd have been hurled free. Spears whizzed amid the cries of his enemies, who had stood silent
as if in awe and disbelief that he could be so wounded. And the Grey of Macha that was the King of all the
horses of Eirinn left there to die among his enemies.
Down onto the strand beside the loch galloped the Balck Sanglain, drawing the chariot alone in his bolting,
and it struck a great rock at the waterтАЩs edge so that it bounded high and landed on its side, and Cuchulain
was hurled from it.
Then did he put shame on his enemies that were shouting after him, and indeed on all men. For he set his
teeth and gathered up his guts to himself, and with the aid of his other hand and the chariot, he dragged
himself to the edge of the water, and Cuchulain drank and washed himself that he might not die so filthy with
dirt and blood and sweat before his enemies. And again by the aid of the chariot, he gained his feet with a
lurch and a grunt.
A great slashing cold pain ran all through him from where his hand clutched his entrails to himself, and
seeped blood between his fingers. And his enemies stood hushed whilst they stared, for he walked, and with
his death-wound on him.
Each time his foot came down on the sandy earth the jar seemed worse than had he leaped from the top of a
mighty oak, but Cuchulain walked. His eyes stared only ahead, at the great standing rock rising from the
sand, and Cuchulain walked. His feet moved, one and then the other and then the first again, the while he
clutched himself the way that his bowels did not spill forth and trip him. And his blood leaked and leaked, and
he walked.
He walked, in an agony of pain, and surely when they had gone a million miles, his mind on naught but lifting
his one foot and putting it down, and then the other, he had paced along the loch to the standing stone that