"Zimmer,.Paul.Edwin.-.Ingulf.The.MadUC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zimmer Paul Edwin)

Ingulf the Mad
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ing illusions about Ingulf so that he walked and talked with a phantom of Airellen. Yet Fiarril saw that Airellen's spell was still the stronger, and that though Ingulfs heart rose a little from its despair, he still knew, somehow, that it was only a dream and a shadow.
Then Fiarril began to fear that he would never be able to wake the mortal, but must keep him wrapped in dreams until he died. He sought out Airellen, hoping that he could convince her to take charge of his illusion, and speak to Ingulf through its mouth. But when he had spoken, she did not answer, only fled from him with wounded eyes.
Dimly, then, Fiarril guessed what her secret must be.
Deeper and deeper he drew Ingulf into a net of enchantment, wondering if he would ever be able to release him.
Then, out of the deep forest, wild Wood-Elves came to claim the cargo: and with them Dorialith, who has more to do with Mortal Men than any other among the Sea-Elves, save, perhaps, for Ethellin the Wise.
When Dorialith saw the mortal and his invisible companion walking between the towers, he quickly followed the strands of the spell to Fiarril, and great anger was upon him.
"What is this that you have done?" he demanded sharply. "And how long have you beenЧplaying with him? The man is as thin as an eel, and weariness clogs his flesh! He will die if you do not stop this!"
Fiarril's fingers plucked golden chords of hope and relief from the strings of his harp and wove them into his spell as he sighed. Now the mortal could be helped!
"It is not as you think, Dorialith! The man would be dead by now if I had let the killing despair that is on him have its way!" HurriedlyЧfor Dorialith's anger was very greatЧhe explained the story he had picked from Ingulfs mind, and what he guessed about Airellen.
"It is great harm you have done him," Dorialith said sadly, shaking his head so that his long beard, colorless as water, rippled in the light breeze. "The man has lost a month out of a life that was short enough already."
All around them harpstrings and bagpipes raced with pounding drums, while Wood-Elves and Sea-Elves danced in greet-
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ing, whirling wildly over the white stone. Dorialith had Karri! charm the mortal closer, and studied Ingulf dancing with his phantom lover. "This month might have healed himЧno knowingЧbut you have taken it from him, and given him instead a single night in which Airellen has still had a month in which to hurt him."
"Do you think that she means to hurt him so?"
"I do not," said Dorialith. "But the pain is there, and there is no time to heal his hurt before she wounds him anew."
"I should be taking the spell off of him, then," said Fiarril, stretching out his fingers to strike a chord of waking on the harp.
"No! You will drive him mad indeedЧor kill himЧif you jerk him from under such a heap of piled-up enchantments as you have made for him. And you'd best feed him now. And if ever you have dealings with men in the future, remember that you must let them eat at least once a day! Preferably more often than that! And sleep, too, they need. They are not like us, Fibril." He rose, and stood watching Ingulf. "After he has eaten, put him to sleep for a while. His body needs rest, whatever your spell tells his mind. I will speak to Airellen before he wakes. As though I had no other work to do!"
Ingulf had long since given up trying to tell dream from reality. He knew he must be dreaming now, because Airellen was with himЧonly it was not really Airellen. She did not draw away when he tried to touch her. Although somehow he never quite seemed to touch her. . . .
She was far more pleasant than Airellen had ever been. But it was the real Airellen he lovedЧeven angry at him, even wrapped in that terrible, soul-killing silence. . . .
His nails drove into his palms at the thought.
Why could he not hate her? Why did he have to go on loving her, hopelessly? If he could only make himself be angry with her, make himself blame her for the pain he was suffering ...
But he was helpless in his love. Did she know what she was doing to him? Perhaps she was laughing at him, perhaps she
Ingulf the Mad
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enjoyed watching him suffer. He tried to make himself believe that, to overthrow this horrible nightmare of love. . . .
It did no good. He loved her. Even if it were true, he must still love her! Tears filled his eyes. Why could she not be kind to him?
And her image brought him to a place where there was food, and urged him to eat. He needed no urging. He seemed always to be hungry now. It was strange, for hadn't he been stuffing himself all the night through, at one feast after another?
His head whirled as he tried to remember everything that had happened that night. The white ship, and all of the feasting, and following Airellen again and again through the streets, Airellen who would not speak to him, would not look at him. . . .
If only he could make himself hate her.
She was with him now, but that was only a dream. Only a dream. Though the food tasted real enough. ...
Then it seemed she led him into one of the glowing towersЧbut he knew it was only a dream. Perhaps the fcUrest sign of that was the warm dreamless darkness that crept down his face the moment he joined her on the bed.
Harpstrings chimed in his ears.
Dorialith helped the Wood-Elves as they sorted out their part of the cargoЧrare herbs from beyond the world, that could not grow in mortal lands; magical treasures and weapons of power sent to them to use in their long war against the powers from the Dark World.
When Dorialith sought out Fiarril, after the Wood-Elves had gone, he bore one of these in his hand: a sword that had been forged in the Land of the Ever-Living.
"This may help to balance, a little, the harm that we have done him," he said, as Fiarril stared at the sword. "And, if I mistake not what 1 see in him, this is a man who can do great good with such a blade, if he can be freed from the trouble that is on him now. He is sleeping?"
"He sleeps," said Fiarril, and led Dorialith to the tower chamber where Ingulf lay alone. Dorialith studied the sleeper carefully for a time; then, taking Fiarril's harp, stroked from
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the strings soft notes of rest, of peace, of unbinding. Slowly, carefully, he unknotted the layered strands of illusion and spell that Fiarril had laid.
The Twin Suns soared across the sky and settled in the west, and still Dorialith played. At last he played a spell of healing slumber, and gave the harp back to Fiarril.
They left Ingulf in the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, and went to seek Airellen. The rainbow light of sunset shimmered in the west. The Elf-folk thronged the streets; immortal, untiring, gay.
Airellen was walking by the sea, and the damp wind spread her hair into a pennon. She did not seem pleased to see Fiarril coming, and began to turn away, but when she saw Dorialith she stopped, and her eyes fell, for he is mighty among the Sea-Elves.
His wise gray eyes, shining like silver in the twilight, looked long at her, while his pale, silken beard floated in the wind, a white banner opposing the dark one of her hair.
"Daughter," he said at last, gently, "you have done greater harm than you know." The last rainbow glimmer of sunset faded from the edge of the sky, and the icy stars stared down. "In the heart of this man I have seen the seed of a great hero. Yet now he has not even the will to be angry with you for what you have done to him."
She had been looking at the ground, but her head snapped up at that. "Am I to blame that he followed me here? He hunted me, not I him!"
"Even the simplest glamour, that an Elf-Woman will throw about herself without thinking," said Dorialith, "is a deadly snare for a Mortal Man."
"And if it is a glamour that is upon him," she snapped, "cannot you take it off, Dorialith Mac Mananawn?"