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

The Thovnosian muttered savagely and concentrated on staying on the path. One slip on the streaming
rocks would mean certain death among the rubble at the base of the bluffs. From somewhere in the
darkness below, he could faintly hear the broken roar of rushing water pounding through the flooded
stream bed.

Still there was no trace of fear in his voice as he growled, "Couldn't you have arranged for Kane to meet
me somewhere dry?"

Arbas looked back with a wet grin of sardonic amusement written upon his dark face. "Changing your
mind about meeting him, are you?" He laughed as his companion answered him with a torrent of curses.
"It's a good night for our purposes, actually--the storm should give us cover from anyone who might try
to follow us. Anyway, you know well enough that Kane couldn't show his face anywhere in the Combine
with that price on his head. And even if it weren't for that, he's not too likely to come running for just
anyone, unless it's damn well worth his while."

He added pointedly, "You still haven't said why you want to see Kane, you know."

"That's something for Kane to hear," retorted Imel.

Arbas nodded solemnly. "Uh-huh. Something for Kane to hear. Uh-huh. Well, don't let me be spoiling
any dramatic secrets now. Wouldn't want that, of course."

But the Thovnosian chose to ignore him and lapsed into silence for the remainder of the climb.

Dark openings arose from the face of the stone wall to the right of them now. These were the doorways
of the abandoned burial caverns, hand-hewn passages forced through the soft rock by slaves long dead
with their masters. More than high enough to permit entrance of a tall man were these silent openings, and
by the lightning flashes it appeared that the vaults within were considerably more spacious. Once-sturdy
gates had barred access to the tombs in the past, but all seemed to have been forced at some time over
the years. A few of the stronger doors stood ajar on frozen hinges, but most were missing entirely, or
hanging at crazy angles-broken relics of rotted timber and corroded metal.

Imel speculated uneasily as to what hands might have torn asunder these stout portals to plunder the
tombs they had protected--and why. It was a bad night for such thoughts. The darkness within the burial
chambers was a far deeper gloom than that of the night, and time had not fully dispelled the stale odor of
mouldering decay that tainted the damp air. His nerves crawled each time he nervously stepped past a
gaping doorway, and his spine prickled with a sensation of hidden scrutiny. Now and again he caught the
elusive sound of tiny scurrying and soft shuffling from within. Imel prayed it was only large rats startled in
their lairs that he heard. But then the storm played eerie tricks upon the senses.

"This should be it. I think," Arbas announced shortly, and he led the way into the musty shelter of one of
the burial caverns. Arbas turned up the lantern, which had miraculously remained burning, and Imel
observed that the cavern took the shape of an L. There was a preliminary passage some twenty feet long,
then at right angles a second and larger passage about fifty feet in length. The eight-foot walls of this first
section had been cut out to form a triple row of niches. Only a few of the mouldering coffins that were
laid in these niches remained intact. Most were broken apart and their contents scattered--although
whether this was from age or vandalism the Thovnosian could not immediately tell.

A double curtain of hide was hung across the passage just after it made its bend. The curtain had been