"Ann Durand - Flight of the Gryphon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Durand Ann)

Chapter Five
The morning was pale grey and the air brisk as Adrella started her journey to the bottom of Kan
Mountain. It was a long way down, and the path was rocky and steep. Unable to balance properly
without a saddle, and with her huge stomach protruding in front of her, she bounced across the hoshdel's
broad back like an unwieldy ball. She rode an older mare named Chilika, who normally offered a smooth
ride. On this path, however, every leap over ditch or small boulder left her slipping off the side or
worse-nearly up and over Chilika's bowed head. She tried gripping the shaggy hair on the animal's
withers for support, but it didn't help. In the end, she simply got off and walked, leading the beast with a
rope. It was slow going, but at least the ground felt steady under her feet.

She reached the base of the mountain before nightfall and climbed onto Chilika's back. The rest of the
trail would be flat. It wouldn't be long before she arrived at her village. In spite of the sinister purpose
Askinadon had imposed upon her visit, she couldn't help feeling a growing sense of jubilation at the
thought of seeing her parents, Moreesha and Rinden, again. It had been two very long years since that
day the takatak had snatched her from the altar at Kopa Na An. Her parents didn't even know if she was
still alive.

She urged Chilika forward, and the hoshdel lunged into a smooth-gaited run. She rode through the cool
forests along the Kala River in the Tikon Forest while absorbing the remembered sights. The gushing
sounds of the river, full from recent rains, comforted her, and the familiar scents of the forest with its tall
sheltering trees conjured up a flood of memories. She thought about her childhood when she and Katera
used to run barefoot over the thick mulch of the woodland floor next to this very river. She passed a
small pool where they had spent hot summer days wading and splashing each other, engaged in great
laughing contests with little more to tether them than the safety directives of their gentle parents. And over
there, she glanced at a wide stump, was the place where Banken first kissed her. Dear, sweet
Banken…killed by Askinadon before he could claim Adrella for his own.

As she drew closer to the village, nostalgia weighed heavy upon her heart. Would she ever know such
simple pleasures again? Would her son…her unborn child? Or were they doomed to a life of servitude,
attempting to placate an insatiable ego with the capacity to steal the very privacy of their thoughts?

With a nervous twitch, she reminded herself that Askinadon might be listening to her thoughts at this very
moment, and with accomplished attention, she supplanted her thinking with happier visions of Rorken.
Experience had taught her that Askinadon did not listen fulltime-possibly not even half time, but there was
no point in getting careless. Especially given the nature of her trip-he would surely be tuning in more
frequently.

The path through the forest opened up to an alpine meadow…the meadow that used to be her home.
Clusters of hostas filled it end to end, especially around the perimeter of Kala Lake. Hoshdels, milling
about in their corrals, were lowing softly to each other. Thin columns of smoke billowed up from stone
chimneys, and the aroma of burning chipil wood from newly stoked fires tweaked her nose. It was almost
dark- tummies would be full from meals of spit-roasted meats and seasoned broths. Across the meadow,
lights flickered on inside the hostas as candles and hearths were lit in preparation for the night ahead.
Children would soon be tucked into their beds, their prayers heard, their foreheads kissed.

She sat quietly on Chilika, engrossed in every detail as the sun slipped behind the Shirkas to the west,
and the shadows dissolved into the darkness. Suddenly, she was blinking at the night, surprised that she
could no longer see. With a sense of urgency fueled by impatience, she leaned forward in the saddle and
the sure-footed hoshdel sprinted down the bank and into the meadow. She rode past the lake toward a
group of hostas on the southern end of the village. Along the way, several heads poked outside front