"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 2 - Seven Altars of Dusarra" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

The Seven Altars of D├╗sarraBook Two of the Lords of D├╗s SeriesCopyright 1981
by Lawrence Watt-EvansCHAPTER ONEThe rider paused at the top of the low ridge;
the plain that lay just beyond was spread out before him under the pale stars
of late summer. Directly before him there was an interruption of the flat
earth; jagged silhouettes rose in black humps, huddled together within an
uneven stone zing. The circle was broken at the point nearest him, and a
single shattered wall rose to mark what had once been a substantial gatehouse;
beside that wall flickered an orange flame, as warm as the stars were cold.
Although he was still too far away to discern any details, he knew that this
was the town of Skelleth, and that the single light was the watch fire of the
guardsman at the ruins of the North Gate. He had been here before, and knew
that of the five gates in the crumbling city wall only this one was guarded.
It was guarded against him and his kind. There was no sign of life other than
the lonely fire, and even had the man posted there been fully alert-as he
undoubtedly was not at this hour-he could not have seen the rider or his party
at such a distance in the dark. Their approach was undetected. The mounted
figure sat for a moment, his face invisible in the darkness and the shade of
his trader's hat, studying the panorama; he glanced up as a nightbird flew
overhead, and his eyes shone a baleful red with reflected starlight. His
hollow-cheeked face had no nose, but only close-set slit nostrils; ragged
black hair hung almost to his shoulders, but there was no trace of a beard on
the leathery brown hide of his jaw. He was inhumanly tall and correspondingly
broad. He was, in short, not human, but overman. His long-fingered hand,
with its oddly jointed thumb and opposable fifth finger, grasped the
guidehandle of his mount's harness, an unnecessary precaution; his warbeast
was trained to obey verbal commands or the pressure of its rider's feet, and
moved with such feline smoothness that there was no danger of dislodging its
master. The creature was blacker than the night sky, and as silent; its golden
eyes and polished fangs were the only discernable features. It stood the
height of a man and, from its stubby whiskers to lashing pantherlike tail,
measured a good eighteen feet. Its triangular ears were up and alert, but it
gave no warning growl. Accordingly, the overman raised his arm in the signal
to advance and led his companions over the final ridge and down onto the
plain. His warbeast moved with silent catlike grace, its great padded paws
disturbing not a single stone; the rest of the party was not so circumspect.
There were four in the party, all grown overmen, but only the leader rode a
warbeast; his three followers made do with yackers, the universal beast of
burden of the Northern Waste. Each rode upon one of the ugly creatures and led
another heavily laden with the goods they hoped to trade in Skelleth. There
was something slightly ludicrous in the stately dignity of the overmen as they
perched stiffly upright upon the broad backs covered with ropy, matted brown
hair, and guided their beasts with finely tooled silver bits in slobbering
black-upped mouths full of uneven yellow teeth. The yackers' hooves rattled on
every pebble, it seemed, and there was a constant snorting and rumbling from
the six shaggy, drooping heads. They were travelling the ancient Wasteland
Road, which led straight to Skelleth's North Gate; as the last yacker reached
the foot of the ridge, the leader turned his warbeast off the road, heading
west instead of south. "Hold, Garth!" called the second in the procession.
The leader tapped a signal with his heel and the warbeast halted. "What is
it?" His companion drew up beside him and asked, "Where are we heading?