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

drovers and churls, planters, the smith and armourer, the tanner and the horse-manager. Dogs yapped,
wagged their tails, and some came running. CormacтАЩs mount whickered. A woman lugging her wash looked
his way, met his eyes, looked a greeting with what seemed embarrassment, looked away. Children were
clamorously at playтАФor work, for that life began at six or seven and sometimes earlier. Yet they seemed
subdued, and they hushed at sight of the two riders.
Taller, huger, somehow darker and more gloomily foreboding, loomed the old fortress itself, the house of Art;
the fortress-house that had been the home of Cormac mac Art through his memory.
Other people avoided his eyes, or looked away. None smiled. A chill came on CormacтАЩs very bones.
Something was sore amiss.
From the house of great oaken beams came Sualtim. Aye, and he wore his white robe as he had in his
bodiless appearance to mac Art in the early hours of the previous night. Normally Sualtim, and indeed druids
in general, wore their robes of deep forest green; the green of the leaves of the oak sacred to Behl.
тАЬSualtim! Where is my father?тАЭ
тАЬWithin, lad. Midhir: I would take Cormac in. Will ye be seeing to the horses?тАЭ
Midhir glanced about, caught the eye of a youth of eleven or so. Midhir beckoned. Then he returned his
eyesтАФto the druid, even while Cormac slid from his horse. He alit with a clanky jingle of armour and the
thwock of leather-shod, wooden swordsheath against his leg.
тАЬCormac,тАЭ Midhir said, and when the youth turned and looked questioningly up at him, тАЬyour buckler.тАЭ
Cormac gave his longtime trainer a lookтАФand came about to fetch his shield from the saddle. The two had
left behind their spears, awkward and indeed dangerous in a fast-walk-night ride through the woods.
тАЬDruid,тАЭ Midhir said, as he threw his right leg over. He slid from his horse without glancing to the ground. тАЬAre
ye saying that ye want me not with ye two?тАЭ
The boy came in response to MidhirтАЩs beckoning gesture; to him Midhir handed over the horses. тАЬGive them
good care, Curnan. ItтАЩs weary and doubtless hungry they are, but too hot to turn free in this chill.тАЭ And Midhir
looked again at Sualtim.
Sualtim opened his mouth above the thin though very long beard of grey-flecked white. Ere he could speak,
Cormac did.
тАЬNay,тАЭ the son of Art said. тАЬCome ye with us, Midhir.тАЭ He started past Sualtim, to the greathouse.
тАЬMy pupil,тАЭ the druid began, from long habit, and paused to amend. тАЬCormac... wait.тАЭ
The youth, half-wheeled on the old man who remained straight though age was at work to fold his shoulders
inward.
тАЬYe bespoke treachery, mentor,тАЭ Cormac said, forgetting heтАЩd not told Midhir of the words of his vision. тАЬNo
one weтАЩve seen here has behaved naturally. ItтАЩs ill or wounded my father isтАФтАЭ
тАЬI but want to go in at your side, son of Art.тАЭ
And so they went. Within, in silence, they walked past the mournful face of Branwen with her deep belly, and
then of Conor her nigh-bald husband, and Midhir followed them through the fortress-house to the door of the
chamber of Art mac Comail. Was then a hand from the cold bed of a winterbound loch grasped at CormacтАЩs
heart, for Sualtim did not knock.
Not even the druid, not even Cormac, entered the presence of the stern military Art mac Comail without
knocking.
Cormac knew then, with his belly going light within him, that heтАЩd be finding druids within the room, and Art
lying still and cold in death, and he was right.
His eyes swamтАФand it was as if they sent a signal to all within Glondrath. Throughout the house and the
entire rath then the keening began, for such was the way of Eirrin, and all had but awaited the arrival of the
son to begin their clamorous mourning of his fatherтАЩs death.

Some sons hated their fathers, often with reason. Some loved those who had sired them, equally with reason.
Some sons were like shadeflowers all their lives, pale and as if delicate in their lack of forcefulness and
accomplishment. Those were indeed sons all their days; sons of fathers, as opposed to men, who were also
sons. Aye, and shadeflowers they were indeed, for the great light-blotting shadows of their fathers lay long