"Gardner F. Fox - Kothar 01 - Kothar Barbarian Swordsman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fox Gardner F)

"Give him his head, Kothar," the queen called from the hut doorway, as
he paced the beast out into the morning sunlight where the sparrows and
the jays were already cluttering. He dropped the reins so they lay limp
over the saddle pommel and he made no more effort to guide Greyling but
sat with the small of his back to the high cantle and let the animal go
where it would.

If he were a horse with any magic in him, he would find the wizard. The
big grey was trotting now toward a break in the woods around the hut,
and when Kothar looked closely he could make out a path between the
trees that led away to the southward.

He turned to see Queen Elfa standing before the open stable door, regal
in her red gown, her golden hair piled high on her head and hung with
garnets. She lifted a ringed hand, waved it. Her smile was radiant with
promise.

It was cool in the forest, and a little cold wind was sighing here and
there through the leaves and over the rocks that peeped out from the
gnarled tree-roots where they broke the ground. Sunlight came but seldom
into this forest world where everything was green or brown, but when it
did, it came in golden sheets with tiny dust motes dancing in its radiance.
 After a time, Kothar grew hungry. He looked behind him but there was
no sack or purse tied to the saddle which might hold cheese and bread,
not any shield either, he noticed, and he told himself glumly that being
champion to a queen might not be all he thought it. The hours went by
and he grew more hungry so that he began shifting in the saddle with his
annoyance like a black cloud on his face.

It was then that he heard the screaming.
Chapter Three
He hung high in the sky, a red thing that screamed and screamed in his
agony, legs and arms moving wildly as if he swam there between the
clouds. Kothar felt the golden hairs at the base of his neck stand up in
horror. The chilling winds that swept the treetops here in Windmere
Wood must be like salt poured over the skinless body of the wizard
Kazazael. Twice the barbarian tried to call up to him but his tongue clove
to the dry roof of his mouth and he had to swallow three times before he
could make his voice work. His eyes were fastened on the thing which had
been a man that was like a puppet now, pulled this way and that by the
winds, hung there in the sky by the magic of his enemy, Red Lori. He could
not pull away his gaze, and sweat ran from his forehead down his cheeks.

A cramp came into his middle out of sympathy for the red thing that
howled in pain up above. Kothar made a fist of his right hand and
hammered the saddle pommel with it.

"Kazazael!" he shouted at last. "Can you hear me?" The wizard was
screaming so loudly, the wind was blowing so strongly, that no ears could