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

Tall, bearded figures stood before him. Their eyes were gray and bright, and larger than the eyes of mortal men. Their long beards rippled and swayed in the wind like a woman's hair, and one beard was yellow like old honey, and the other was like water pouring in the starlight. But the faces behind the beards were children's faces.
"Welcome, Wanderer!" The one whose beard was like flowing water spoke, and his voice was deeper than is common among Elves, rich and melodious with wisdom. "It is a long way you have come from your stone-beached islands, Ingulf son of Fingold, and a tangled path that you have followed."
Ingulf blinked, his mind too muddled for such talk. The one with the honey-colored beardЧhad he not seen him last night?
"A hard road," the silver-bearded Elf went on. "Few among men have ever dared seek out this city. Great striving should be rewarded, surely."
He must force himself to stand and be polite, while his heart drove him to strike aside these frail figures with a sweep of his arm, and run to find AireHen. . . .
"A great warrior you have been in the seas of the East," said he of the silver beard. "That you may be a greater oneЧlook!" He held out a sword. It glittered like frost in the moonlight. But when the Elf moved into shadow, it still gleamed. "With this sword, great deeds lies before you. With it, perhaps, you may win to your heart's desire."
"Airellen?" he croaked, and wondered at himself.
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"She is waiting for you," said the honey-bearded Elf, his voice like golden harpstrings. "But take the sword that Dorialith gives you."
He took the blade in his hand, and the warrior in him rejoiced at the weight and feel of it. The gold-bearded Elf pointed.
"She is waiting for you," he said, and Ingulf saw her, sitting on a bench in the moonlight: her eyes were cast down and her hands clasped in her lap. He ran past the Elves toward her, the gleaming sword forgotten in his hand.
Her face lifted as he came up, then dropped again. Fear shot through him. Would she look at him? Would she speak to him?
"Airellen?" he stammered, his voice weak with terror. Her wide eyes lifted.
"Ingulf," she said. "Come, sit by me."
He sat, his tongue trapped in his mouth. He must find wordsЧbut there were no words. Her eyes, her eyes were looking at himЧ
"WhereЧhow did you get that sword?" he heard her saying. "Did Dorialith give it to you? Are you a hero now, Ingulf?" He had forgotten the sword he held clenched in his hand. He stared at the blade stupidly, and then laid it in the dust at her feet.
She had said his name! He had never known his name could be so beautiful.
"IЧ" He swallowed, forced words past his clumsy tongue. "If lamЧif I am a hero, it is for you. It is all for you, whatever I am. I must make you happy. There is nothing else in the world. If you wish it, I will hurl the sword into the sea, or I will take it and go alone against the Demon-Lords of Sarlow."
She was looking at her lap again. All he could see was long, dark hair.
"It was for you I came!" His voice was frantic. "I wish for nothing else!"
Her head bobbed: her hands leaped from her lap; vanished behind the hair that covered her face.
UI know my worthlessness. I am no hero; no bard to sing your beauty, or to find words to tell you of my love. But I do love you!"
"No!" she sobbed. "You do not love me! It is only a spel! I
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put on you. You cannot love me! After all I have done, after I have treated you so? Oh, Ingulf, what shall I do?"
"If it is a spell," he said, "never take it off. Oh, Beloved, do not turn from me. Hope of my life. Blessed Lady, do not make me suffer any more. Don't hurt me again. Stay with me, please, stay with me."
Her eyes met his. He had thought to find out what color they were at last, but then he was lost in their depths, and past caring. He heard her voice, crooning soft words. Strange visions swirled in his mind. For a moment he seemed to be Airellen herself, fleeing before a mad Ingulf who stalked between the white towers like a hunting scarecrow. He felt the harpoon bite into her side. . . .
His body faded. He could hear her voice crooning softly.
The warmth of his hands, the power of his voice, the strength and the tenderness of him . . .
But he will fade, he will fail, he will die. . . .
He was sitting on the bench beside her again, and her eyes were gazing into his. She loved him. He knew that now. He reached out and caught her hand, feeling her fingers cold and fragile in his grasp.
There was a curious vision in his mind, of himself, shriveling like a withered flower, and falling away to dust. What did it mean?
Her slender hand. Her fragile body. Her tiny shoulders. Yet he would die, and she would not. . . .
"I will bear your child, if that must be," she said.
He stared at her, then caught her hand and pressed it to his face, and kissed the frail fingers and the tiny palm, scarcely able to breathe.
My child, he thought. Her child.
"Your hands, your warm hands!" she said. "Oh, Ingulf, what are we to do? Where can we go? Should I go with you, among Mortal Men? It would not be good for you to stay here. Perhaps we could live with the Forest-Elves, or find a home in one of the cities in the West, in Elthar perhaps, where Elves and Men live. ..."
His arms were around her. Her lips opened shyly to his. She
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felt so fragile, so tiny, in his arms! He felt her, tasted her, smelled her, his beloved! He stroked her hair.
"What does it matter where we live," he whispered, "so long as we are together? Only stay with me, as long as I am living, never leave me again. ..."
She stiffened in his arms.
"No!" she gasped, pushing away from him, and her face was a mask of terror. "No, not that! My love, you must not ask that of me! I cannot bear it, you must let me go before then! I love you too much toЧyou must let me go first!"
Her horror was echoing in his mind, but he thought it was his own fear of losing her.
"I can never let you go!" he cried. "Never! Not until death has me!"
'Wo.'" she screamed, and wrenched herself away from him, and leaping from the bench was running from him, down the long white street that led to the sea.
He leaped up, leaving the bright sword of heroes gleaming in the dust, and ran after her.