"Gardner F. Fox - Temptress Of The Time Flow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fox Gardner F)

of trills and vowels. For the first time, Trenton realized that Kiryla had
spoken to him in his own tongue. As the man swooped from his saddle and
waved Trenton toward it, the Earthman smiled at Kiryla, "What speech is
that?"
Kiryla laughed, "It is the common tongue that evolved out of the past.
Some of it is your language, some Martian, some Procyonic. We are
taught dead languages here. That is why I know--yours."
Trenton grinned, "Dead language? I'm as alive as you, and fifty billion
people where I come from speak it better than I do."
Kiryla thrust out her lower lip, brooded at him sadly. She shook her
head until the golden plaits shook loose. "I was born seven thousand
centuries after you, man of Beutel's race. The year is-as you reckon
time--703,172...anno Domini."
Trenton staggered, closed a hard hand down on the metal pommel of
the leather saddle. "Seven hundred thousand--you're joking."
"Mani will tell you," Kiryla laughed. "He will reveal everything to you. Of
the Llinana-kir, Mani is the wisest. He knows everything."
Trenton lifted himself into the saddle on the jelafaf, gathered up the
reins. The Llinana-kir ranged themselves in single file, jabbed at their
mounts' flanks with sandaled heels. The jelafafs were light and sure of
foot, and fast as the fleetest Martian sea bottom deer. The wind whipped
around Trenton's browed cheeks, played easily across the leather of his
space-jacket. His holstered disintor bobbed on his thigh.
They flashed up over the brow of the hill, heading for the upper reaches
of the mountain. Kiryla called over to him, "We go fast lest the Min-dir
raid us. Since Drayatha rules, they needed-amusement."
Up here, the firs grew fantastically tall, verdured dark green, towering
into low-scudding clouds. Beneath their far-spread branches the
Llinana-kir raced their mounts. Over needle-strewn forest floor their
hooves flew. Into the scented coolness of mountain woods they ran.
Trenton saw the chalet a mile away, low and green, with wide windows
and broad chimneys. Its shape and color harmonized with the broad, low
bushes that clustered beside it. From the air, it was hidden by the giant
firs.
A man in a green cloak came out of the wide doorway, stood looking at
the file of racing jelafafs. He lifted a white hand to throw back the cowl.
Serene of face, he stood silent and still, waiting. Without knowing,
Trenton felt him to be Mani.
Kiryla cried out, "Wise one! I have come--with a member of the ancient
race. I found him on the other side of the Clot, as you foretold,"
Trenton swung down from the saddle. He stepped toward the old man,
found himself staring into old eyes that twinkled with understanding and
merriment. Mani said, making a polite gesture with his hand, "Take
welcome here, man. We have much--and little."
Trenton said, "I have come for Beutel, to find the danger he discovered.
To cure it by ending it, if I can."
Mani smiled wearily. "The danger is Drayatha. And the Altar. What it
is--only she and Theg know. Except that it has to do with--Time."
 Trenton looked his surprise. "Time?"
"Time, yes. The hours and the days and the years. What do your people