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

The KingтАЩs castle stood stark and desolate, keeping a blank-eyed watch over the valley and, though
long abandoned, it was still spoken of only with lowered voices by the villagers. Then beyond that were
the caves. Caves that were said to wind down through steep, intricate tunnels into the bowels of the
mountains to dark and secret vaults where lay unheard-of terrors; terrors from the ancient times that slept
as the world had become civilized but which might be awakened again by the blundering of the unwary.
And beyond that yet, never spoken of save by the children in their world of whispering and wonder, was
the eerie, silent tree-filled gorge that led to the land of the Great Forest to the north. The land where even
the people were different, and where who knew what other creatures dwelt?

For a moment Farnor suddenly felt himself to be constrained, bound by unseen ties. He sensed a part of
him struggling, crying out inarticulately.

He drew in a sharp breath, as if someone had dashed cold water in his face, so unexpected and vivid
was this sensation. Briefly the mountains became mountains and the castle a castle, then, once again, they
werethe mountains,the castle, and the images he saw were those of his upbringing.

Yet . . . not quite so. Something was different. Something seemed to have changed.

He shook his head. YouтАЩre hungry, he thought.

Swinging his pack off his shoulder he turned towards his favourite seat: a small rocky outcrop which hid
him from the ominous region to the north and on which he could sit and lean back and look down the
valley.

He settled down with relish and fumbled with the straps on his pack without looking at them. Ahead of
him, green fields, white-dotted with sheep and outcropping rocks, lay vivid in the spring sunshine. The
shadows of the few small clouds passing overhead marched slowly but resolutely across all obstacles,
and the air was filled with the susurrant whispering of distant rustling trees, tumbling streams and the soft
shifting of countless wind-stirred grasses and shrubs. Occasionally an isolated sound rose above this
harmony: a sheep, a hoarse croak from one of the great black birds that circled high above, the buzz of
some passing insect.

DonтАЩt go to sleep again, Farnor cautioned himself, as he felt the valleyтАЩs peace seeping into him.

He sat up and began to concentrate on his food.

After a mere mouthful, however, another matter forced itself upon him, setting aside both appetite and
any chance of slipping into sleep. Only a few paces ahead of him the grass was streaked with blood.

What had a little earlier been an exciting daydream was a more sober, not to say frightening, reality.
With almost incongruous care he laid the piece of bread he had been eating back in his pack, stood up
and walked hesitantly over to the stained grass.

As he neared it he saw more blood. And the grass was crushed. Something had been dragged across it
recently. A faint sense of excitement began to return, but it was mingled unevenly with alarm. Then duty
and his native common sense took command. He had been sent out to check on the sheep. It was one of
the responsibilities that his father had entrusted to him. This was probably no more than a rabbit killed by
a fox, but he must have a look around just to be sure, and then he could return to his father and tell him
what he had seen and what he had done about it.