"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 3 - Waking Of Orthlund" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

though joy may lie in creating, it is in the totality of the creating and that which is created that the true joy
of being lies.

And men found indeed that joy was to be found in the power of creating, but under His guidance their
creations were without harmony, and knowing there was no true joy in them, menтАЩs discontent grew, and
they sought Him out further.

But He dismissed them, saying again, тАШI have told you. In the use of this power will your joy be
increased. Trouble me not. Create yet more.тАЩ Though privily He would say to some, dropping His soft,
sweet words into the gaping maw of their desire, тАШIf your neighbourтАЩs creations are more joyous, perhaps
it is a flaw in the way of things that should be mended.тАЩ

And when they asked how this might be done, He said yet again, тАШIn the use of this power will your joy
be increased.тАЩ

And looking on the perfection of His beauty, many men believed Him, and began to gather power to
themselves not only to create yet more of His flawed designs but to mar the creations of their neighbours.
And their discontent grew beyond measure, until the time came when many were utterly lost in
bewilderment and followed His words blindly.

Thus His stain spread across the world, and the air and the sea and the earth became fouled with the
poisons of His works, and many humbler creatures were slaughtered utterly. And He led His followers to
create war, and wage it upon those who remembered the Guardians and the ways of true joy, for His
own discontent grew also.

Chapter 1

Sylvriss struggled desperately to control the frenzied horse beneath her. Riddin born and Muster bred,
dealing with difficult mounts would not normally present her with any serious problem, but this was
different. The horse was almost demented with terror, and its screaming seemed to fill her very soul. It
was as though the animal were trying to obliterate the terrible rumbling clamour that had reached out from
the City towards them, shaking and buffeting the countryside as if it were not solid Fyorlund earth, but the
surface of a wind-whipped lake.

Almost unseated when the horse had stumbled on the heaving ground, Sylvriss too had felt a terror the
like of which she had never known before, and for a moment it was only the deep knowledge that her
body possessed that kept the reins in her hand and any semblance of control over the terrified mount.

Slowly her mind entered the whirling turmoil of emotions, and wilful skills began to replace the reflexes
that had saved her so far. She knew that the horse could be quieted by being made more afraid of her
than the terror that had just thundered over the countryside and, deep inside, part of her relished that. It
rose temptingly before her: primitive anger formed from primitive fear. But that was a demon the
Riddinvolk had tamed generations ago, and she spurned it. Rider and horse should be one, and Sylvriss
knew that the horseтАЩs terror was in part a response to her own; the horse could not be properly stilled
until she herself was still.

And stilled it must be. Despite the questions that pounded for her attention, this was no time for debating
causes. Suffice it that if she lost her mount, she could not do her husbandтАЩs bidding.

тАШGo to the Lord EldricтАЩs stronghold as you planned, my love,тАЩ he had said. тАШAs fast as only you can.