"Andrew J. Offutt - Cormac 05 - Sword of the Gael" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

fastened armour and arms about his lean, rangy form. Wulfhere glanced up.
тАЬWhither?тАЭ
тАЬYouтАЩve more armour to see to,тАЭ Cormac said, with that small sardonic smile of
his. тАЬI think IтАЩll take a walk.тАЭ
тАЬAye, with care. Halfdan will follow you, Cormac mac ArtтАФhe has less steel to
see to.тАЭ
Halfdan-called-halfman said nothing. He was built low to the ground, too, but
like an ox. Thus the name jestingly given him meant naught to the short man, who
could lift and hurl the likes of Cormac and who had sent many taller men to their
fathers, and them longer of arm.
Cormac mac Art set off walking, along the shore to the eastward. He angled his
steps inland to the rocky wall that stood between him andтАФwhatever dark secrets
this grim land housed, back of its lifeless shore.
HalfdanтАФand Knud the Swift as wellтАФwere just on their feet and clad in
well-inspected armour when their Gaelic comrade called.
тАЬHo! A divide splits the rock here, and winds inland.тАЭ
Then he walked on past it, rounding a granitic spur that ran down to the very
water. Around it Cormac peered, and shook his head, for there was only more rock,
and the sea, which ran out and out to turn dark and melt against the farther sky.
Water to the end of the world, the son of Eirrin mused without cheer, and he
turned back to meet the others.
They straggled up the sand, huge Wulfhere still buckling on a swordbelt like an
ox-harness. Knud limped a bit on a turned ankle, and Hakon SnorriтАЩs son had wiped
face and left arm clear of patches of skin on the sand in his violent sliding along it.
Hrothgar swung his right arm, wincing, whilst he constantly worked the fingers of his
left.
Twelve men had died, and nine had been blessed of their gods. All could walk,
nor was there break or sprain among them. CormacтАЩs lower back nagged; he gave it
no more heed than had it been a hangnail.
In horned helmets and steely-rustling mail over leg-hugging trews that bulged
over the winding of their footgear, the little band entered the narrow declivity
Cormac had found. Natural walls loomed high on either side, no further apart here
than the length of two men, as though in some time long gone a giant had carved out
this entry to the interior with two swift wedging strokes of an ax the size of the father
of all oak trees.
They walked.
And they walked the more, while barren cliffs brooded over them and chilled
them in grim shadow. The declivity widened, then narrowed. It widened again, and
still again drew snug, while it turned a half-score times like a road that followed a
cowтАЩs meandering path. Nor did the nine men see aught of man or animal, not even
the wild fowls they had heard.
Then they rounded another turn in that winding corridor roofed with sky and
walled with somber basalt, and they came to a halt, and every man stared.
тАЬOdinтАЩs eye!тАЭ
тАЬBy Odin and the beard of Odin!тАЭ
тАЬItтАФit be a jest of Loki, surely!тАЭ
тАЬItтАЩs to Valhalla weтАЩve come for all that, and still no cup-bearer in sight!тАЭ
Thus did those stout weapon-men make exclamation, while they stared.
Before them the slash in the rock widened into a canyon. The canyon became a
valley, dotted with fallen rock ranging in size from pebbles to great deep-set chunks