"Karl Edward Wagner - Kane 01 - Darkness Weaves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

The rain had stopped, but the quiet of the night was broken intermittently by rumbles of distant thunder.
High among the splintered rocks that guarded the unfrequented roadway leading up to the escarpment,
Kane crouched behind a boulder. Beside him lay a small pack of personal belongings along with an
assortment of weapons. Crossbow at hand, Kane scanned the darkened roadway for sign of Imel and
his men. From the trail below he was impossible to be seen--even by eyes that might search intently.
Kane had told Imel to meet him at a point farther along the cliffs--but always wary of treachery, he chose
to await the renegade from this point of vantage.

Regretfully he considered the priceless volumes of black knowledge which he had been forced to leave
behind. Well, he had committed most of them to memory, and the Black Priest would recover them
presently and return the accursed tomes to their niches within his shadowy vaults. There had been a very
early transcription of Alorri-Zrokros's monumental Book of the Elders that had particularly captured his
admiration. The later transcriptions could be deadly from errors and omissions, Kane well knew.
Presumably he might have found room to include just this one bulky volume in his pack, but he knew the
crumbling parchment would never survive the frantic dash to escape the Combine's vengeance that lay
ahead. Perhaps he would return to Lartroxia when those who now hunted him were dead and their
curses forgotten...

His keen ears caught the sound of hooves on stone. Riders were coming up the road--but who were
they? Kane cocked his weapon past its safety stop, then searched along the path with eyes that saw
more in darkness than man should.
 Eight riders and nine horses--presumably an extra mount saddled for him. Their approach was furtive;
soldiers would be watchful, but more confident. Kane strained his eyes and recognized Imel on the lead
horse. Certain that this was his party, Kane fired the crossbow bolt across their path, drumming it into the
trunk of a dead tree. It brought them to an effective, albeit abrupt, halt.

"Don't piss in your pants! It's me!" Kane called to the startled riders. Gathering his kit, he scrambled
down over the boulders. Muttered profanity greeted him as he paused to cut the quarrel from the
hardened trunk where the iron head was bored with force that would pierce the best mail as if it were
silk.

"Have you been followed?" asked Kane, wrenching the bolt free.

"We don't think so--though it's a damn fool who says for sure. Did you have to shake the crap out of us
like that? I was damn well sure we'd run into an ambush!"

Kane recognized the angry growl. "Arbas! So you're still with us! Surely sentiment hasn't driven you to
see me off."

"Bindoff decided I'd better go along as guide in case we have to start dodging patrols," Arbas explained,
watching Kane stow his gear on the horse they provided him. "I told him you could get lost in these hills
as well as I could, but he was persuasive."

"An assassin for a guide. I like that," chuckled Kane. He swung his heavy frame into the saddle and
made certain his battle-axe was in easy reach. "Let's ride, then."

The nine riders retraced their way up the neglected road. When they finally reached the main roadway,
they headed southwest for the coast. One man rode ahead to scout for patrols. It was Imel's plan to
force their way to the hidden ship by following as rapid a course as possible--speed rather than stealth,