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

stepped off the road and into the trees without warning: he followed her recklessly,
half angry and half afraid that she was aban-doning him. But she danced ahead of
him through the pines, staying always in sight, although she was plainly impatient
with his own lagging pace. The dank chill of the sunless wood gnawed his aching
back and swarms of stinging gnats feasted on his exposed skin; the bare-armed girl
seemed as oblivious to the insects as she was to the cold.

He pushed on grimly, as he had pushed on until now, having no choice but to
keep on or die. And at last his persistence was rewarded. He saw the forest rise
ahead, and buried in the flank of the hillside among the trees was a mossy hut linteled
by immense stones.

The girl disappeared into the hut as he entered the clearing before it. He
slowed, looking around him at the cluster of carven images pushing up like unnatural
growths from the spongy ground, or dangling from tree limbs. Most of the images
were subtly or blatantly obscene. He averted his eyes and limped between them to
the hutтАЩs entrance.

He stepped through the doorway without waiting for an invitation, to find the
girl crouched by the hearth in the hutтАЩs cramped interior, wearing the secret smile of
a cat. Beside her an incredibly wrinkled, ancient woman sat on a three-legged stool.
The legs were carved into shapes that made him look away again, back at the
wrinkled face and the black, buried eyes that regarded him with flinty bemusement.
He noticed abruptly that there was no wall behind her: the far side of the hut melted
into the black volcanic stone, a natural fissure opening into the mountainтАЩs side.

тАЬSo, Your Highness, youтАЩve come all the way from Kwansai seeking the
Storm King, and a way to tame its power?тАЭ

He wrapped his cloak closely about him and grimaced, the nearest thing to a
smile of scorn that he could manage. тАЬYour girl has a quick tongue. But IтАЩve come
to the wrong place, it seems, for real power.тАЭ

тАЬDonтАЩt be so sure!тАЭ The old woman leaned toward him, shrill and spiteful.
тАЬYou canтАЩt afford to be too sure of anything, Lassan-din. You were prince of
Kwansai; you should have been king there when your father died, and overlord of
these lands as well. And now youтАЩre nobody and you have no home, no friends,
barely even your life. Nothing is what it seems to be ... it never is.тАЭ

Lassan-dinтАЩs mouth went slack; he closed it, speechless at last. Nothing is
what it seems. The girl called Nothing grinned up at him from the floor. He took a
deep breath, shifting to ease his back again. тАЬThen you know what IтАЩve come for, if
you already know that much, witch.тАЭ

The hag half-rose from her obscene stool; he glimpsed a flash of color, a
brighter, finer garment hidden beneath the drab outer robe she woreтАФthe way the
inner woman still burned fiercely bright in her eyes, showing through the wasted flesh
of her ancient body. тАЬCall me no names, you prince of beggars! I am the EarthтАЩs
Own. Your puny Kwansai priests, who call my sisterhood тАШwitch,тАЩ who destroyed
our holy places and drove us into hiding, know nothing of power. TheyтАЩre fools;