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

Tahion's horse darted away in a frantic blur of speed and suddenly was racing alongside the piper's horse, while astonished elves turned to stare.
Istvan's desire to dance faded as suddenly as it had come, and he gripped his horse's mane tightly as he fitted his feet back into the stirrups.
They came suddenly into vivid moonlight, Domri and Lirdan bright overhead, and scores of lesser moons clustered about them. A level, treeless plain stretched ahead, and elvish voices rose, mingling sweetly with a sudden cascade of melody from the bagpipes. Wind plucked at them as their horses'
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speed increased; it whirled Starn MacMalkom's cap from his head, and a dancing elf caught it out of the air and waved it gaily at the astonished chieftain.
The ground rolled away in a blur: trees marched to meet them out of the night, and vanished as they came abreast.
Hours passed, and still they rode. Twice they dashed into the rustling darkness of dense thickets, and emerged blinking on the other side without branch or leaf having touched them. Countless moons raced past Domri and Lirdan in the sky.
At last, dawn paled the sky and gilded the eastern moons. They galloped up a steep slope, and Istvan saw ahead a sharp-edged ridge, black against the gold and pink light. Starn and Flann MacMalkom shouted to each other in wonder, for this was their own homeland: the western chain, of the Tumbalian hills, nearly ten days ride from Elthar on a mortal horse.
As they topped the ridge, one sun peeped over the eastern chain of hills, across the long, deep valley. Then it vanished again as they dashed down the thickly wooded slope into the shadow of the far mountains.
Cocks crowed around them, and they could see farms in clearings in the forest and hints of folk beginning to stir. But Istvan doubted that any man saw them pass.
The sense of youth and strength which the music had brought had faded when Oranfior had laid aside his pipes. Istvan's bones ached as they crossed the valley. Both suns glared in his eyes as they raced up the eastern slopes. The horses slowed as they climbed, but Istvan gasped at the treacherous steeps up which they scrambled at a speed still greater than a good horse running on the level.
It had been a strange, lonely ride. Only Tahion had spoken to him, of all his companions, and for the most part the men had been wide-scattered among the elves.
At the top of the slope the horses drew together into a long line, as they wove along a narrow trail between outcroppings of rock. Suddenly, they came out among the barren, windswept crags, and looked down upon an endless sea of treetops that washed against the slopes below.
Here began the Forest of Demons, running on and on to fill the heart of Y'gora, stretching two thousand miles or more to the mountains that guard the borders of Ualfime.
Under that green roof lived elves and wild men, and, here
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and there, vast cavern cities of the dwarves. But these were few and far between, and other dwellers were not so friendly: the black, shapeless demons from Outside who gave the forest its name, and the trolls and goblins who served them. Somewhere in the leafy distances before them lay the strangely guarded lost city of the Hasturs, only partly in this world, and the dragon-haunted waste where the spawn of ancient Koman-thodel hunt 'round the cave where their monstrous parent slumbers, near the southern marches of Sarlow, whose rulers serve, not the Hasturs, but the Dark Lords from Beyond the World.
But most of the Dark Things were underground now, hiding from the light.
Istvan shut his eyes and gripped the horse's mane tightly as it darted down the steep, wooded slopes. Soon the twin suns vanished behind a thick roof of leaves, and a pale gold-emerald glow stained the elf-steeds' coats. Their hooves barely stirred the dead leaves as they raced between the trees.
Starn MacMalkom, Lord ofBenbiel Marched with his men to war . . .
Cormac the Harper began to sing as he rode beside Tuarim.
He had a fine, sweet voice, no doubt, as such things were usually reckoned, but after the beautiful, chiming voices of the elves, who sang even in speech, Cormac sounded harsh and off-key. Istvan had little patience for the tying tales minstrels told of men's deeds in any case, and was glad when his horse dropped back far enough that he need not listen as the minstrel sang song after song about the men with whom he rode. No doubt, Istvan thought glumly, some lying story about "Istvan the Archer" as well.
Eventually the minstrel's throat gave out, much to Istvan's relief. But the ride was beginning to tell on him, and he began to wonder how much longer they would have to ride, and if the elves ever planned to let them sleep. His legs cramped in the stirrups, and he began to worry about saddle-blisters. He pitied the menЧand it was most of themЧwho were riding in kilts. ,
Pain does not hurt, he told himself, only fear hurts. He / freed one foot from its stirrup and stretched it. '
Between the trees, he glimpsed other men doing the same.
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Weights pulled down his sticky eyelids. He had learned long ago to sleep in the saddle, but that was on a slow-moving horse, not on something that sped through thick woods in a
tangled blur . . .
Suddenly, there were two elves behind him, one riding on each side, and a soft, crooning music surrounded him. Yet he saw no instruments. Was it their voices? His eyelids drifted down. He could not think. But the slow song sang of sleep, of Elf-Kings on bright horses, riding through enchanted forests, of dreams of women too delicate and too beautiful to be human ....
CHAPTER THREE
Elf-Shock
Istvan woke. The horse had stopped. Blinking in the full light of both suns, he saw before him a green mound swelling up to a dome. Around him, men, dwarves and elves dismounted.
He clambered stiffly down from his saddle, still struggling to disentangle his mind from the maze of dreams. The eft-horse nickered, and suddenly blurred away into the trees. He took a single, useless step, then stood staring after it, thinking of the little cheese that had been left in his saddlebag.
"Man! Fd near forgot what feet were for!" a deep voice boomed nearby. Turning, Istvan saw Fergus Mac Trenar stamping his feet as though to be sure the ground was real. "What, Flann? How did you get here? Did they put two horses under you? Surely they did not let you break the back of one poor, lone beast?"
Flann only grunted, stretched his massive limbs, and the red beard twitched with a grin.
"You're no so light yourself, Fergus!" laughed Starn MacMalkom, straightening his plaid. "I mind well when I pulled you from that bog. I was sure you'd taken root!" Men around them laughed, and it was plain the young chief spoke of some well-known tale.
"Ah, Starn, lad!" Teeth flashed in Fergus' black beard,
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and he turned twinkling eyes on the Tumbalian as though noticing him for the first time. "I see you got your hat back, feathers and all. Wasn't the bird dead yet?"
"Indeed," a new voice rose above the roar of laughter, a kingly voice, rich, deep, and melodious, "we all saw the birdeen fly straight up to the elf s hand! The wee feathers lifted it upЧ" Carroll Mac Lir came striding through the crowding heroes, hands fluttering in pantomime, "Чand away it flew! So now we know why Stam is so famed a war-leader: in battle, his hat sings to cheer his men!"
Louder grew the laughter. Istvan joined, yet even as he laughed he felt alone, alien. These men knew each other well, it seemed, and their teasing followed long-established patterns. He was out of place and knew no one. He looked around for Tahion and saw him a little way off, kneeling with Arthfayel beside something in the grass, with Fithil and Ingulf standing above them.
The banter continued behind him as he walked away.
Karik Mac Ulatoc lay sprawled on the ground; Arthfayel was massaging his temples, while Tahion stared into his eyes, speaking softly. The other islanders leaned on their curious weapons, their eyes somber.
Karik's brown face was still, blank eyes staring. As Istvan approached, Tahion nodded at the other wizard, and Arthfayers long fingers dropped away from the dark man's temples.
". . . come out now, come out into the sunlight," Tahion was saying. "Wake now! Be freed from dream!"
The black eyes blinked, and life came into them. The eyebrows wrinkled in a puzzled frown, and Karik stirred and sat up slowly like a man sluggish with long sleeping.
"Where are the kingsЧand their ladies?" He shook his head in confusion. "And the glittering palace of jewels? The white-armed queens in their beauty; the unicorn ridersЧ" He hid his face in his hands and rubbed at his eyes.
"What is it?" a strange voice whispered. "Elf-shock?" Looking around, Istvan saw that it was one of the forest-runners, the gnarled, red-bearded man. Tahion pressed a finger to his lips for silence, and nodded sharply. The woodsman nodded back, and prowled soundlessly away.
Everyone knows what is happening but me, Istvan thought.