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

The sky was darkening; night was coming on. He had fought hard, he
had been through experiences which would test the nerves of any warlock
who dealt with daemons, and tiredness was in his bones. Greyling was
tiring too, he had run a long way, so Kothar reined him in and let him
walk and blow.

The stars in the night sky were close together and very thick in the
blackness. The big barbarian blinked at them in his weariness.

He wanted to slip from the saddle and remove his blanket, wrap himself
in its length as well as he could, and sleep. Yet the thought of the red thing
screaming in the sky drove him onward, with Greyling stumbling now in
his own weariness. The forest world was long since behind them, they were
moving across a great meadowland, and faintly from afar his nostrils
caught the scent of salt air.

Salt air would mean the sea and the craggy rocks where the waves
rolled in and broke apart in a spray of spume and water. Kothar
straightened in the saddle. He had always loved the sea—he was spawn of
the ocean, having come to Cumberia long ago in a boat as a lost, lonely
child—and the smell of its fragrance was a stimulant to him. He reached
down and with a big hand, patted the muscular neck of the grey warhorse.

"A little further only, Greyling."

Then they would rest. His body must have sleep to dare the sea beast
Iormungar in its lair and take from it the white wool cloak that had been
woven by enchanted mermaids long ago, deep in some blue ocean grotto.
Ah, but first let his eyes drink their fill of the restless sea lifting up its
swells to batter at the coastline rocks as it had done since the beginnings
of Time.

The horse came to a little headland and Kothar reined him up on the
rim of the black sea rocks so that he and the horse stood silhouetted
against the stars. There was soft loam and grass underhoof, for the
meadow grew right up to the edge of the sea stones, and he could make
out gorse and heather swaying in the wind.

Standing in the saddle, the mercenary searched the headland for some
place of shelter where he might make a fire and warm his body. He saw
only a fallen tree a hundred yards away and he sighed. He would make do
with what he had, like any other warrior in the field.

Within moments after he lay on his side with his spine to the fallen
treetrunk, with his head resting on a mattock of soft grass, he was asleep.
Greyling, freed of bridle and reins and saddle, browsed on the sweet
grasses, and from time to time lifted his great head and stared out over
the dark waters of the ocean.