"Roger Taylor - Nightfall 2 - Valderen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Garren Yarrance had made a stark and chilling impression on them, as had the account from Gryss,
Harlen and Yakob of the strange power that Rannick now possessed. And fretting round the edges of
these horrors was the mysterious disappearance of Farnor. Where had he gone that night after he had left
GryssтАЩs cottage? Had he gone to the castle and been quietly slain? Or had he fled over the hill to seek
help from the capital? Or, the wilder notions went, had he fled north to the Great Forest? Some said that
food and supplies had been taken from the Yarrance farm, and others were convinced that they had
heard something howling beyond the castle on that fateful night. Speculation however, added only
confusion to the dark ignorance that was slowly swamping the village.

Yet, inevitably, there was a certain amount of businesslike, if surly, contact between NilssonтАЩs men and
the villagers. Food was required. Repairs had to be made to parts of the castle. Horses had to be
tended. Servants were needed. Occasionally there were overt threats made to reluctant workers, but the
worst threat was the unspoken one which cried out every time a marauding band returned with booty and
captives. тАШWomen for pleasure. Men and children as hostages. Think yourselves lucky this isnтАЩt
happening to you.тАЩ

It was a matter discussed only in subdued whispers and with the closest of friends, for already there
were those who were turning away from Gryss and the Council and the traditional, if informal, hierarchy
that had overseen village life for generations. They were turning instead towards the power that could
enforce its will with muscle and steel.

****

Gryss sat alone in his cottage, resting his head on his hand. His face was drawn and his eyes were red.
He had been weeping. He had not wanted to, even though the wiser part of him knew that he needed to,
but the enormity of what was happening, and his part in it, had eventually swept aside his unhappy
resistance and, for a while, he had sobbed like a beaten child into the silence of his old cottage.

Despite himself, he was tormented by the knowledge that he should have challenged Nilsson and his men
when they first arrived, down-at-heel and exhausted. He was certain now that they could have been
turned away while they were weak and had no measure of the villageтАЩs vulnerability. Perhaps there would
still have been some problem with Rannick and the strange creature with which he had made his unholy
alliance, but that too might have been dealt with had Nilsson and his men not been there. And now,
though he knew all too well that he should stand against Nilsson and Rannick, and tell the villagers to do
the same; knew that he should use what remained of his authority to unite them into a powerful
opposition; because of his earlier weakness and indecision, he could not.

Now he could only say, feebly, тАШNo, we mustnтАЩt do this, we mustnтАЩt do that, look what might happen to
us.тАЩ And, again, by way of demonstrating the taunting rightness of this advice, came the steady stream of
other poor souls, less privileged in their proximity to the seat of the power that was spreading like nightfall
across the land.

How did I come to this? he thought bitterly, wiping his eyes awkwardly on his sleeve.

Step by wretched step, came the equally bitter reply from somewhere within himself. And, in truth, he
could not see how it could have been otherwise when he looked back over what had happened. But this
gave him no consolation, and his mind was constantly filled with the words тАШif onlyтАЩ swirling round and
round like autumn leaves caught in the coming winter wind. If only Farnor had not planted the idea of
tithe gatherers in his head when NilssonтАЩs men had first appeared in the distance. And yet again, if only he
had stepped out and spoken to them as their ragged column had moved past the waiting villagers . . .