"Sorcerer's Son" - читать интересную книгу автора (Phyllis Eisenstein)

Sepwin sighed. “Well, now we know why your father took the northern route.”

“Oh, we’re halfway through. We can last another two days, can’t we, Master Feldar?”

Sepwin mounted his horse. About its feet, like a scatter of gray dust, lay the remains of the spidersilk netting; at Cray’s touch it had fallen apart, freeing the animal, which appeared unperturbed by the night’s shelter. “I only wish I knew,” said Sepwin, “if the worst was behind us.”

“I suspect every human being would wish to know that,” Cray said, climbing onto Gallant’s back. “And since we have no way of acquiring that knowledge, let us assume it. I don’t feel in any mood to spend my time worrying about the future.” He grinned at his companion. “I’m sure you’ll worry enough for both of us.”

The morning passed uneventfully, the road alternately dry and mucky; occasionally the horses splashed through water to their knees. It was in one of these stretches, where the exact location of the road was unclear, although it could be seen to continue some distance ahead in a drier condition, that Gallant tossed its head, whinnied loudly, and began to thrash. Cray perceived immediately that his mount was stuck in the mud that lay beneath the water. He turned in the saddle and shouted for Sepwin, who lagged a dozen strides behind, to stop. Even as he did so, he realized that he and Gallant were sinking.

“What’s happening?” cried Sepwin.

“We’re stuck! Stay where you are and keep your horse calm. I’m sending you spiders—

use their silk as a rope to pull us out!” As if throwing invisible stones, his hands shot out, and spiders poured from his sleeves, struck the water, and danced lightly over the surface, laying down silk behind them. Some stayed by Gallant, weaving a net about the horse, and the rest raced for Sepwin, swarmed up his mount’s legs and began to fashion a net about both steed and rider. Sepwin shuddered once as they arrived, but he had no time for more than that, for his shying horse required every scrap of his attention; he soothed the animal at last when the spiders had done and had gathered to rest upon his shoulders, like dark snowflakes. He moaned softly but did not try to brush them off.

“I can’t pull you both out!” Sepwin said. “You weigh too much—you’ll pull us in instead!”

“I’ll come first,” said Cray. Already the water was at his thighs, and he could feel the muck beneath, sucking at his feet. He slipped into the water as flat and gently as possible, clutching the filmy spider strands with both hands and crossing his ankles over them. His lifeline sagged under his weight and the weight of his chain, and he shouted,

“Move back!” just before water filled his mouth. A moment later, as Sepwin obeyed, the silken rope drew taut, rising a hands-breadth above the surface. Cray shook the water from his eyes, spat, and breathed deep; then he began to crawl, slowly, his body almost completely immersed. Gallant, sinking, pulled the rope that was anchored to it ever deeper; the horse had ceased to whinny now, and to struggle, but its terrified panting carried across the water like the breath of a blacksmith’s bellows. Cray heard it when his ears cleared the surface, and though the time after that seemed to stretch endlessly for him, it was actually only a few moments until he was able to stand up beside Sepwin’s mount. The water was at his knees in that spot, but there were rocks beneath his feet, hard and unyielding. He turned to look at Gallant and saw only the horse’s head and neck projecting above the water.

“We’ll never get him out,” said Sepwin.

“I won’t let him die! Get off your horse—you can’t use your own strength from up there!” He touched the spidersilk webbing that encompassed his companion’s steed, and where his flesh passed, the silk parted, freeing Sepwin’s legs and enabling him to dismount. The spiders leaped from his shoulders to the horse then, to spin again and repair their netting.

“Come now, pull with me,” said Cray, and he grasped the silken line just in front of Sepwin’s horse. Sepwin joined him, tugging and urging his horse backward in the water.

“Come now, we can do it,” Cray gasped. “He’s just a dead weight, not working against us. Pull!”

“We’re not strong enough,” moaned Sepwin.

“Your horse has pulled a plow through stony earth. She can do this! Back, plowhorse, back!” Gritting his teeth, Cray added every fragment of his strength to the horse’s effort.

“We’ll never do it,” gasped Sepwin, his voice harsh and strained.

“Pull!”

So gradual was their success that they did not realize it until Gallant began to thrash.

The horse stumbled then, as the muck gave it up, and stood muddy and shivering upon the rocks beside its master.

Cray let go the silken rope and threw his arms around his horse’s neck, stroking and murmuring to it until the shivering ceased and its breath settled down to a semblance of normalcy.

“We’ll have to stop now,” said Cray. “He needs a rest and a good rubdown. Poor Gallant

—you’ll be all right, old fellow, I promise.”

“I could use a rest, too,” said Sepwin, leaning against his own steed. Sweat was rolling down his face and neck, and his arms were shaking with the effort he had expended.