"Weis, Margaret & Hickman, Tracy - Darksword 03 - Triumph of the Darksword UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weis Margaret)

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WEIS AND HICKMAN
TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD
"Time slows here in the center, moving faster and faster as it expands outward."
"I don't understand," Saryon said.
"No." Joram shook his head. "And neither will many others. . . ." His voice died. Absently, he smoothed Gwendolyns hair, his brown eyes staring far off into the land of Thim-hallan. The sun had disappeared, leaving behind only a rapidly fading pale light in the sky. Shadows gathered on the beach, hiding those who stood there from the view of the Watchers, whose silent, frantic shouts were going unheard anyway.
No one spoke. Gazing intently into the distance, as if endeavoring to see beyond the sands, beyond the plains, the forests, and the rims of the mountains, Joram appeared to be mulling over some decision.
Saryon kept quiet, fearing to disturb him. Though many questions crowded into his mind, one question alone blazed with the bright light of a fiery forge, and he knew it would shed light upon all the others. But that question Saryon dared not ask, fearing as he did the answer.
He waited in silence, his eyes on Gwendolyn, who looked around the gathering gloom from the shelter of her husbands strong arm, her face sad and wistful.
Finally, Joram shook his head, the black hair falling about his face, his thoughts returning from whatever world in which he had been wandering to the beach where they stood.
Feeling Gwendolyn shivering in the chill night air, Joram drew her wet cloak more closely around her. "Another thing I might have known, had I thought about it," he said, speaking to Saryon, "was that the Darksword would break the spell holding you prisoner. I didn't, however. I wanted only to give you rest. ..."
"I know, my son. And I welcomed it. You cannot imagine the horror Ч" Saryon shut his eyes.
"No, I cannot!" said Joram, anger burning his voice. At the sight of his dark face scowling in the gloom, Gwen shrank away from him. Seeing her fear, he made an obvious effort to master himself. "I am thankful that you are here with me, Saryon," he added in cold, measured tones. "You will stay with me, won't you?"
"Of course," Saryon said firmly. His fate was bound up in Joram s. No matter what he intended.
Joram smiled suddenly; the brown eyes warmed, his shoulders relaxing as though a burden had been lifted from them. "Thankyou. Father," he said. Looking down at Gwen, he put his arm around her and, hesitantly, she huddled against his side. "I ask this favor of you, then, my old friend. Watch over my wife. Take her in your care. There is much I must do and I may not always be able to stay close by her. Will you do this for me?"
"\es, my son," Saryon said, though inwardly he asked fearfully, What miut you do?
"Will you stay with this Priest, my dear?" Joram said gently to his wife. "You knew him once, long ago."
Gwendolyn's blue eyes went to Saryon, a mystified expression clouding them. "Why won't they talk to me?" she asked.
"My lady," the catalyst said helplessly, not knowing quite how to reply, "the dead of Thimhallan are not accustomed to talking to the living. No one has been able to hear them in many hundreds of years. Perhaps they have lost their voices. Be patient."
He smiled at her reassuringly, but it was a sad smile. He could not help thinking of the merry, laughing girl of sixteen who stood before Him at the gates of Merilon, a bouquet of flowers in her hand. Looking into the blue eyes, he remembered the dawn of first love that had made them radiant. Now the only light in Gwen's eyes was the eerie light of madness. Saryon shuddered, wondering what terrible thing had happened to her to cause her to retreat from the world of the living into the shadowy realm of the dead.
"I think they're frightened of something," she said, and Saryon realized she was not talking to him or to her husband
Хbut to the empty air, "and they want desperately to tell some-one, to warn them. They want to speak, but they can't re-inember how."
Saryon glanced at Joram, somewhat taken back by the
^Earnestness of her discussion.
г "Does she really Ч "
Х;?. "See them? Talk to them? Or is she insane?" Joram 'I was told by"Чhe paused, the dark brows com-
14 WE1S AND HICKMAN
ing together Ч "by someone experienced in these matters that she might be a Necromancer, one of the ancient wizardesses who had the power to communicate with the dead. If that is true, it's fitting"Ч Jorams lips twisted in a bitter half-smile Ч "since she married a Dead man."
"Joram," said Saryon, at last able to give utterance to the terrible question burning in his mind, "why have you come back? Have you returned to ... to ..." He faltered, seeing by the expression in Jorams brown eyes that the question was anticipated.
But Joram did not answer. Leaning down, he lifted the Darksword from the sand and carefully slipped it into the leather scabbard. His hands lingered on the soft leather, caressing it, thinking undoubtedly of the man whose gift it had been.
"Your Grace," Saryon thought he heard Joram murmur, shaking his head.
"Joram?" Saryon persisted.
Still Joram did not answer the unspoken question that echoed all around them like the silent cries of the Watchers. Stripping off his robes and his wet cloak, he strapped the leather scabbard around his bare chest, positioning the sword on his back where it would remain hidden beneath his clothes. When it was comfortably in position Ч the magic of the scabbard causing the sword to shrink in size ЧJoram drew his white robes back T)n, secured them tightly with a belt at his waist, and flung his cloak over his shoulders.
"How do you feel. Father?" he asked abruptly. "Are you well enough to travel? We have to find shelter, build a fire. Gwendolyn is chilled through."
"I am well enough," answered Saryon, "but Ч"
"Fine. Let's be off." Joram took a step forward, then stopped as he felt Saryons hand on his arm. He did not turn around, and the catalyst was forced to draw near to see his averted face.
"Why have you returned, Joram? To fulfill the Prophecy? Have you come to destroy the world?"
Joram did not look at the catalyst. His eyes were on the mountains before him.
Night had fallen. The first bright evening stars sparkled in the sky and the jagged peaks were visible against them
TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD
15
ony y their darkness. Joram stood in silence so long that
-jfae moon rose from behind the black rim of the world Ч its single, white, uncaring eye glaring down at the three figures Standing on the shores of Beyond.
At the sight of the moon, Saryon saw the twisting half-smile darken Jorams lips.
"Ten years have passed for me, my friend, my father, if I
Хmay call you such? "
The catalyst nodded, unable to speak. Reaching out, Joram grasped Saryons hands in his own, though it seemed the catalyst would have stopped him if he could. But Joram gripped them firmly. Looking down at the hands held fast in his, he continued. "For ten years I have lived in another world. I have lived another life. I never forgot this world, but when I looked back on it, I seemed to see it as through a mist. I remembered its beauty, its wonder and I came back to ... to Ч " He stopped abruptly.
"To what?" Saryon urged, trying unobtrusively to withdraw his hands.
"No matter," Joram answered. "Someday I'll tell you. Not now."
His eyes were on Saryons hands.