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

"That was a message from Rath Tintallain," he said.
"What was a message?" Starn MacMalkom asked. Prince Tahion laughed.
"You forget, son of Elathan, that mortals cannot hear as you do." He turned to the men around him. "A whisper passed through the trees, and of course you could not hear it! But elves often send messages so, through the minds of the
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trees, for those who can hear. And the tale the forest bears is of dark forces gathering, of demons and goblins on the road before us, of armies moving out of Sarlow, and of dragons. Old Komanthodel has been seen outside his cave for the first time in centuries, and his spawn gather there."
"We dare not stop!" Tuarim Mac Elathan cried, his wide eyes burning and his face pale. "Already we arc likely to be cut off! You heard. Yet each mile we cover will make it more dangerous to ride at night!"
"We have good scouts, and better fighting men than most," Tahion answered. "If we must, we can fight our way throughЧif we still have strength to lift our swords! We will stop at Shi Culsavaq, as agreed, and then, when men and dwarves are rested, ride on into the night. I myself will scout for you!" Elves around him burst into laughter.
"Now, that is a new thing!" Tuarim said. "Never has a mortal scouted for me before. And yetЧ" he paused, and looked long at Tahion. "And yet the Wood of Aldinor has always been the greatest wonder of this World, and of the powers of its rulers I have heard strange tales in plenty. I will accept that offer, then. But now we must ride!"
And on that word, Istvan felt his horse stir, and suddenly it was turning away, and all the elf-steeds were darting from the clearing in a long line, one after another.
Trees rushed past. Behind, the twin suns dropped toward distant mountains. Istvan felt the weariness of the ride grinding down upon him, and longed for the rest Tahion had spoken of. He wondered how much further it could be. Already the suns were so low that lances of light streamed beside the horses, piercing thick foliage to paint faded leaves with flame. The light grew red as the twin suns dropped, and still the trees flashed past. He saw ahead nothing but trees.
Until, at last, the horses swept out of the wood, into a wide green meadow; beyond it, grass sloped up into a sudden domeЧan Elf mound. At its top, tall chestnuts towered over dark, gnarled apple trees. The breeze was scented with apple blossom, though spring was long past, and Istvan stared at ripe red spheres dangling from the boughs. It was not time for apples!
Fleet elf-steeds swirled through the meadow in a spiral, stopping all together at the ground's first swell. Istvan slid down from his beast's back, hearing a sound like a faint tinkling of bells.
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All around him, men stretched and yawned and stamped, and their voices, exuberant after the long ride, drowned all other sounds in jesting and laughter. Fergus Mac Trenar jostled Flann MacMalkom, and the two began to wrestle.
That was worth watching, Istvan decided. They both stood braced as though rooted to the earth, strong legs straining as each gripped the other's shoulders. Istvan sensed terrible strength warring up and down the two sets of knotted, swollen arms. Even Ironfist Arac, he thought, would work up a sweat against either of these men.
Flann, red-maned and heavy-boned, was the taller of the two, but Fergus' arms swelled like knotted tree-roots, and his shoulders were broader.
Fergus hurled himself backward, trying with a sudden twist to pull the taller man off balance, but Flann stepped calmly forward with his long legs, and Fergus, turning, braced himself against the red-bearded man's weight.
The twin suns vanished behind endless leaves: rainbow colour spread across the sky. Twice Fergus twisted in Flann's hands. Twice Flann's long stride took up the slack. Ghostly moons loomed in the darkening east: the fading rainbow net in the west deepened to somber red.
The black-bearded man was tiring now: again he twisted, trying for a hold, but Flann, startlingly quick, hurled his full weight on the shorter man. Fergus' knees buckled and straightened, heaving back the bear's weight that pressed him down. Flann's hands blurred, locked on the other man's wrists. A sudden wrench forced Fergus to his knees.
Flann let go with a booming laugh.
"Is it a fine rest you're having, Fergus?" He shook his weary, knotted arms. "We are to ride on again tonight, I hear. When we do, they will have to put beds instead of saddles on our two horses, so well rested will we be!"
The last white horses vanished in the forest as Istvan looked up. West, the sky's angry red lip was fading: above, the blue deepened into velvet where diamond stars sat twinkling, and moons rolled between like pearls.
Tuarim and Tahion strode together into the midst of the men.
"Rest now, friends!" Tuarim's voice was soft, haunting music. "Rest and eat, and sleep a little while. Your sleep, indeed, must be short: before midnight you must rise and
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ride. My folk shall ride before and all about you, to find a safe path through the terrors of the night." His beautiful, inhuman voice faded, and Tahion's deeper human voice spoke.
"The elves here shall wake you, and see you on your way. Fear nothing: the folk of Shi Culsavaq have many dealings with men. I ride with the elves. Rest well."
A fine rest they would have here on the bare hillside, Istvan thought, hugging his cloak more tightly about him. The chill was settling into the marrow of his bones. A fitful wind moaned in the treetops, and tiny bells jangled. An owl hooted. Istvan's eyelids drooped.
A sudden burst of music and laughter flicked his eyes open on -vender: a great door had opened in the grassy mound's side, and from it came light and music and a rushing band of elves.
Silver lights cast a bright shimmer about them as they ran to the heroes, darting about them in a wild and complex dance, food and drink in their hands.
Istvan's ears were filled with the rushing torrent of music. Faces and eyes of amazing beauty looked into his, vanished, leaving his hands filled with food: apples and berries and nuts, and bread made of flour ground from nuts. The sweet milk that filled the clay bowl in his hand surely came from neither cow nor goat.
In a moon-white blur of hoofbeats, the elven steeds swept by, and Istvan knew that Tahion was gone, out scouting with Tuarim Mac Elathan. Despite Tahion's parting words, he feared the beauty around himЧthe music and dance seemed to drive out thought.
But if spell there was, he was too tired now to resist, and when he had eaten, he let laughing elves lead him by the hand to a bed laid under a bower of boughs, and allowed them to spread warm blankets over him, while wild music wove him dreams.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Silver Swallows
Tahion rode on through the night with Tuarim Mac Elathan. His mind reached out from his weary body, touching the minds of the creatures of the forestЧbird and beast and tree. He ignored tiny flutters of individual fear, watching for the telltale mass panic that would show the Dark Ones near.
Rabbits ran through moonlight. A hunting owl soared, soft feathers bearing him soundlessly between dusk-hidden trees, while Tahion glanced quickly through his eyes. An ancient oak enjoyed a gust of wind that tossed its limbs about.
Then a wide-antlered stag leading his does through the forest tossed up his head, snorting as a gust of wind brought a scent burning and dreadful to his nostrils. Trees screamed in the darkness as cold death brushed against them, withering leaf and limb where it touched.
The deer leaped into full flight, and all about them rabbits and birds were scattering. The trees, rooted, could only stand and scream.
Tahion called soundlessly to the elves. Tuarim's voice spoke in his mind: We hunt! Lead us in.
Tahion touched the mind of his horse, and sensed elves all about him on their cloud-white steeds, turning, wheeling, matching their pace to his.
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A wolf pack fled precipitously from their new-found trail as a whiff of the demon-scent came to their nostrils. The owl saw the rabbits scattering through moonlight, drifted in ghostlike for an easy killЧthen hesitated, as other movements in the grass caught his eyes. Then he, too, wheeled and flapped away swiftly.
Tahion saw another horse lift mist-white out of the brush, and then Tuarim's horse was beside his, soundlessly matching stride for stride.
Ghost-white horses came flitting out of the black tangles of the forest, leaping over the bodies of tiny fleeing things. The deer ran past, and the wolves, scattering in panic from advancing death behind.
Black fire moaned among screaming trees.
Hunting elves swooped like white moths out of the night, and on their swords and arrows need-fire glittered. Bright gold the Sword of Kings glowed in Tahion's hand, and the sword of Tuarim Mac Elathan, helinde that had flamed beside Fendol's blade, was drawn, blazing with silver light.
Transparent blackness writhed away as arrows tipped with magic flame arced through the dark.
Elf-horses circled, surrounding the demon. It avoided the glowing arrows with a speed even the elf-horses could barely have matched; and suddenly it was rushing upon them like wind-driven wildfire.