"Roger Taylor - Nightfall 1 - Farnor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

lightning, killing reflexes of this monstrous animal until finally, slipping on the bloodstained grass, he would
crash to the ground and the creature would be on him, teeth scarce a hand span from his throat.

Farnor drew his knife with a flourish and thrust it upwards into the sunlit air to emulate the final blow that
would unexpectedly finish his attacker at the very last moment.

He laughed out loud in his excitement and allowed his fantasy to peter out with images of his triumphal
return to the village and the wide-eyed appreciation of the villagers тАУ and their children in the years to
come тАУ who would beg him to tell them, yet again, the tale of his mighty battle against the beast of the
valley.

Then, though he knew he was quite alone, he glanced about, slightly embarrassed at this lapse into
childish imagining.

Nonetheless, it was a good tale. It was the kind of tale that Yonas the Teller would tell with much drama
on his rare visits to the village. Farnor began to embellish it and to mouth it to himself after the manner of
Yonas. Then he began to imagine himself to be a great Teller, travelling not only to towns and cities about
the land, but even toother lands far, far away. Lands ruled by great princes and kings, and full of noble
lords and fine ladies. Farnor stretched himself tall; ladies who would smile knowingly at him and . . .

His foot sank into a cow pat.

An ignoble but vigorous oath rose up amid the unique incense released by the deed, and self-reproaches
fell back down on him. тАШDreaming again, Farnor?тАЩ he heard his fatherтАЩs oft-repeated comment.

A few ungainly, dragging steps relieved him of the bulk of his burden, but the remainder proved
persistent and, despite a further brief, foot-twisting ballet, he was finally obliged to resort to sitting down
and finishing the task with a clump of grass.

His poetic mood dispelled, Farnor strode on sourly, content for the time being to be earthbound; neither
slayer of beasts nor Teller of tales, but a plain, ordinary farmerтАЩs son out looking after his fatherтАЩs sheep.

He was still so minded when he eventually came to the end of his journey: the place where, a little earlier,
he had chosen to fight the ravening sheep-worrier.

тАШThat will be far enough,тАЩ his father had said. It was his usual admonition; unelaborated, but laden with
meaning. Farnor leaned on his staff and stared up the valley.

This was the last rolling hummock before the mountains began to assert their presence on the terrain,
closing in darkly and rising steep and rugged out of the lush greenery. But it was more than that: it was, to
Farnor, the boundary of the known land. Just as beyond the valley and the village lay a strange and alien
world best kept at bay, so beyond this point lay a forbidden world, a world of unspoken dangers and
strange menace.

As ever when he was here Farnor imagined how easy it would be to walk down the grassy slope in front
of him and begin the climb up towards the head of the valley. The thought gave him a not unpleasant
shiver of fear, but he could no more take that first step than he could fly.

Such a journey would take him first to the old castle.