"Zimmer,.Paul.Edwin.-.A.Gathering.of.HerosUC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zimmer Paul Edwin)

"I will leave you now with your kin," said Cruadorn, weighing the two shards of Dair Mac Eykin's broken Hastur-blade in his hands. "I have a sword to forge."
"Wait!" said Cormac the Harper. "Has any news come to you about the band of dwarves who went out when we came in?" The dwarf shook his head.
"Not yet."
"Well then," said the Harper, "it would be very kind of you to find out, and tell it me. And if you could, bring word also of the fighting in the mines."
"I will," said the dwarf. He turned to leave. Below, the silent, deadly men had dropped their hands from their swords, and low murmurs came from the back of the room; A slender, elegantly clad man with silky yellow hair whispered something to the black-maned brute at the table, which brought a gust of hearty laughter from a grim, scarred face.
"Well, now!" Carroll Mac Lir's voice boomed. "That is better!" He strode forward to stand at the head of the stairs. "You at least know me, Conn MacBran! So you need not sit glaring at us as though you thought we were spies from Sarlow!" Again, the giant at the table laughed.
"True, Carroll," his deep, powerful voice called back, "but not all my foes are from Sarlow!"
"Arthfayel!" a voice shouted from the back of the room, and the crowd split to make way for a lean, ragged, red-topped man.
"Anarod!" shouted Arthfayel. "Brother!" He ran down the stairs. Now laughter and conversation sounded on the floor below.
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"Quite a little army," Tahion murmured to Istvan. "Small, but select. Conn you've surely heard ofЧhe was over the sea fighting for Kobol and Thernhelm a few years back. They say he comes from one of the wild head-hunting tribes south of Ualfeim."
"They say that," said Cormac the Harper, joining them, "and they say there is no man better to lead in war against the forest barbariansЧsince he is one himself. It is said he was a galley slave in Sarlow, and wrought a bloody vengeance on his captors even before he drifted into the civlised world, and has since acquired sword-skill in every land. He was made a general by the Airarian Emperor not long since, but was caught conspiring to seize the crown, and now there is a price on his head.
"From their dress, I would guess most of these to be from Ualfeim or Cotarjon," said Tahion. "Do you know any of them, Cormac?"
At the stairs' foot, Arthfayel embraced the red-haired man. Cormac looked out over the crowd.
"Very few," he said. "The sun-haired, frail fellow there by Conn, I think, is Lamon of Athprecan, the youngest brother of Lord Athprecan in Cotarjon, and he, too, has been an outlaw in his day. He is a clever man, but unlucky, I fear. And there beyond them, the tawny-haired man with a moustache like a catfishЧthat is Larthon, slayer of trolls. See how his shield is dented and battered? There are good songs about him. And Anarod Mac Moran, of course, Arthfayel's foster-brother. He comes from the Three Kingdoms originally, Elantir, I believe, but he married a woman of Clan Gileran and has been dwelling in the woods with her people."
"He is the one who descended into the Caverns of the Veneduaith, is he not?" Tahion asked, as they went down the stairs.
"He is," said the Harper. "That was a famous deed! And the islander, thereЧ"
But a cry from Anarod silenced him.
"Dead! Eilith is dead, and our little son motherless!" The voice was shrill with grief: shock replaced joy on Arthfayers face. "Evil Urushc came in the night, and the fire was at our little house as we woke. I snatched up my sword, and she the babe, and we ran outside, with them all around us, and smoke from the house, and I struck and I slew in the smoke.
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"1 heard her scream, and the baby crying, and I saw her lying in her blood with a spear through her, and the baby crying in her arms. Then, in the smoke, something dark and small snatched up my son and ran with him, and I followed through smoke and darkness by the sound of his crying, until I caught the goblin who had taken him, and then I killed and 1 killed ...
"Then I wandered, my little son hungry in my arms, until the elves found me."
"And where is little Liam now?" Arthfayel asked gently.
"He is here. There is an elf-woman nurses himЧI have no milk for him. I will die soon, too, I think."
"Anarod ..."
"Will you take the baby, Arthfayel, when I am dead? Or must I leave him among the elves?''
"Anarod, man, do not talk so! You must live to be a father to him now. Of course 1 would care for him, Brother, but it will be better for you to raise him yourself. When he is weaned, you can reclaim him from the elves, and then ..."
"I shall not live till he is weaned," said Anarod, shaking his head. "Man, 1 saw what they'd done to her! When I came back. They'd played with her body. They ateЧtheyЧ" Huge, calloused hands hid the anguished face, and great sobs broke the voice. Arthfayel glared at the men who had stopped to listen; they drew away, guiltily. This was no tale for strangers to hear.
Istvan saw Tahion's face grim, and remembered that the dead girl had been of Clan GileranЧthe clan of Tahion's mother.
"Did you know her?" he asked gently. Tahion nodded.
"My cousin's child. I remember her as a little girl. I have not seen her forЧyears. I had been meaning to ride down and meet this famous western warrior she had wed." His face twisted. "Well, IЧ" He fell, silent, brooding, and Istvan sought vainly for some comforting word.
All around them men spoke, greeting one another. Suddenly, out of the battle, Istvan heard his own name. Turning, he saw a tall, lean-featured blond man in an islander's tartan robe, who walked with a strange grace; a walk that said plainly to Istvan that this man was a master of the "Bleeding Wind" Sword Style.
"Is it not Istvan the Archer?" the islander said. Istvan
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stiffened at the hated name. "Do you not remember me? We were both at the battle near Innijvalga, where the Emperor's fleet smashed both the Norian raiders and the fleet of Svaran of Sarlow that had come to their aid." That long-nosed face was familiar and. after a moment, Istvan remembered it.
"Layareh," he said, pronouncing the name with care, recalling that men called him Layareh the Proud. "Yes, I remember you. So you, too, are here." The islander nodded.
"Of course. Ah, Ingulf, it has been years, indeed. And Fithil, I am glad to see you again. But what are you doing here, Karik Mac Ulatoc?"
The brown man started, and hesitated, but Ingulf spoke for him.
"You need not look over your nose so, Layareh. Tuarim Mac Elathan himself bade him come."
The pale, blue eyes, cold as death, widened in mock surprise, and a false smile curved the thin lips.
"Is it so indeed? Ah, surely, 'tis what they say, 'a wonder by daylight,' is it not?" He turned and strode away, leaving Karik Mac Ulatoc glaring after him, and strode over to Conn Mac Bran. The barbarian glowered suspiciously at the three islanders.
"They say Layareh the Proud went into exile with Conn Mac Bran," said Cormac, low-voiced. "He is one of the greatest of the swordsmen of the Isles. But see how Conn glares! He is remembering the price the Emperor has put on his head."
"Let us hope foes come against us quickly," Tahion replied in a whisper, "before the politics of Airaria, or some feud between the clans, set us all at each other's throats. I see men. here in the tartans of the Ua Haldir and Ua Killym, and I know there has been bloodshed between those Clans for centuries uncounted; and I know that there are more foolish hatreds and feuds in Y'gora than I can ever remember."
Cormac nodded. But at that moment another figure came through the crowd. It looked more like an elf than a man. Istvan stared a moment, uncertain. In Y'gora, many men had elf-blood . . .
"You should remember me, Tahion Mac Raquinon," the newcomer's voice was a high, chiming tenor, like bells of silver. "I am Alphth, the Changeling; Ardcrillon Stoneweaver
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has asked me to help care for you mortal men, sinceЧsince I am one myself." He smiled. Tahion laughed.
"I remember you indeed. Does this caring for us mortals involve such matters as food or beds?"
"Indeed!" Alphth laughed. "You look as though you need such. Follow me!"
They wove through the crowd. At the back of the room, a table held dishes of apples and bowls of beechnuts and hazel-nuts. Nearby, a sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and the table was littered with bones, crumbs, shells and apple cores.