"Joan D. Vinge - The Storm King" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vinge Joan D)

ground at his feet: his dagger. The hilt was pock-marked with empty jewel settings;
stripped clean. He leaned down to pick it up. When he straightened again she was
gone.

тАЬYou need a lightтАФ!тАЭ he called after her again.
 Her voice came back to him, from a great distance: тАЬMay you get what you
deserve!тАЭ And then silence, except for the roaring of the falls.

He ate, wondering whether her last words were a benedic-tion or a curse. He
slept, and the dreams that came to him were filled with the roaring of dragons.

With the light of a new day he began to climb again, following the urgent river
upward toward its source that lay hidden in the waiting crown of clouds. He
remembered his own crown, and lost himself in memories of the past and future,
hardly aware of the harsh sobbing of his breath, of flesh and sinew strained past a
sane manтАЩs endurance. Once he had been the spoiled child of privilege, his fatherтАЩs
only sonтАФliving in the worldтАЩs eye, his every whim a command. Now he was as
much Nothing as the witchgirl far down the mountain. But he would live the way he
had again, his every wish granted, his power absoluteтАФhe would live that way again,
if he had to climb to the gates of Heaven to win back his birthright.

The hours passed endlessly, inevitably, and all he knew was that slowly,
slowly, the sky lowered above him. At last the cold, moist edge of clouds enfolded
his burning body, drawing him into another world of gray mist and gray si-lences;
black, glistening surfaces of rock; the white sound of the cataract rushing down from
even higher above. Drizzling fog shrouded the distances any way he turned, and he
realized that he did not know where in this layer of cloud the dragonтАЩs den lay. He
had assumed that it would be obvious, he had trusted the girl to tell him all he needed
to knowтАжWhy had he trusted her? That pagan slutтАФhis hand gripped the rough hilt
of his dagger; dropped away, trembling with fa-tigue. He began to climb again,
keeping the sound of falling water nearby for want of any other guide. The light grew
vaguer and more diffuse, until the darkness falling in the outer world penetrated the
fog world and the haze of his exhaustion. He lay down at last, unable to go on, and
slept beneath the shelter of an overhang of rock.

****

He woke stupefied by daylight. The air held a strange acridness that hurt his throat,
that he could not identify. The air seemed almost to crackle; his hair ruffled, although
there was no wind. He pushed himself up. He knew this feeling now: a storm was
coming. A storm coming ... a storm, here? Suddenly, fully awake, he turned on his
knees, peering deeper beneath the overhang that sheltered him. And in the light of
dawn he could see that it was not a simple overhang, but another opening into the
mountainтАЩs sideтАФa wider, greater one, whose depths the day could not fathom. But
far down in the blackness a flickering of unnatural light showed. His hair rose in the
electric breeze, he felt his skin prickle. YesтАжyes! A small cry escaped him. He had
found it! Without even knowing it, he had slept in the mouth of the dragonтАЩs lair all
night. Habit brought a thanks to the gods to his lips, until he rememberedтАФ He
muttered a thank you to the Earth beneath him before he climbed to his feet. A
brilliant flash silhouetted him; a rumble like distant thunder made the ground vibrate,