"Raymond E. Feist - Conclave of Shadows 1 - Talon of the Silver Hawk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

would know the nature of his vision and what his name said to him, about his place in the universe, his
mission from the gods, or his destiny. His grandfather had once told him that few men truly understood
their na'ha'tah, even if they thought they did. The vision was only the first hint from the gods as to their
plans for a man. Sometimes, his grandfather had said, the plan was a simple one, to be a good husband
and father, a provider for the well-being of the village and the nation, an example for others to emulate, for
it might be that his role was to be a father to someone chosen, a special one, a na'rif, and that plan would
unfold long after a man's death.

Kieli knew what his grandfather would say at this moment, that he worried too much, and that he should
simply put aside worry and let the gods bring to him their will. Kieli knew his father would say the same,
adding that to hunt or give counsel in the long house, or to be a good husband, first one must learn to be
patient and to listen.

He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the breeze in the mountains. It spoke to him as leaves
rustled in the cedars and pines. At times the wind could be a cruel companion, cutting through the
heaviest of furs with a bitter, freezing edge. At other times it was blessed relief, cooling the hottest days of
summer. His father had taught him of its voices and taught him that to learn the language of the wind was
to be one with it, as were the hawks and eagles who built their nests among the craggy peaks. A screech
split the morning air and Kieli's head turned with a snap as a silver hawk struck at a rabbit less than a
dozen yards from where he rested. The rarest of the hawks of the high mountains, its feathers were
actually grey, with a mottling of near black around the head and shoulders, but an oily sheen upon the
wings caused the bird to glisten with silver highlights when it sped through the clear sky. With a single
beat of its wings, the hawk gripped the struggling rabbit tightly and launched itself into the air. Like a kitten
carried by its mother, the rabbit hung limply from the bird's talons, as if resigned to its fate. Kieli knew the
animal had gone into shock -- nature's kindness as pain and thought were dulled. He had once seen a
stag lying motionless on the ground, awaiting the hunter's final mercy with a knife, felled by an arrow that
hadn't killed it.

In the distance he saw other birds wheeling lazily in the morning air, catching thermals off the rapidly
heating rocks so that they could glide in search of a meal.

Turkey buzzards, he knew. Their large wingspan allowed them to drift on the rising hot air while they
scanned below for the dead and dying.

Ungainly and ugly on the ground as they hopped to the carcass of a fallen animal, on the wing they
were majestic.

To the south he saw a black-tailed kite balanced in mid-air, tail pointed downward while its wings beat
quickly for two or three strokes, then halted to allow it to fall slightly, then beat again, to hold the kite in
place above its intended kill. Then with stunning swiftness, it stooped, talons extended downward, and
with precision bordering on the supernatural, struck the ground in a tight arc, lifting off without even a
moment's hesitation, a squealing vole clutched in its claws.

From the distance, forest sounds reached him. The rhythms of the day and night were different, and
now the diurnal residents of the forests below were making their presence felt as their nocturnal
neighbours sought out shelters in which to sleep.

A woodpecker industriously sought out insects in the bark of a nearby tree. From the pattern of the
sound, Kieli knew it was the large red-topped who was digging out his meal; his tapping was slow,
thunderous and persistent, unlike the more dainty staccato of his smaller, blue-winged cousin.