"C. S. Friedman - Coldfire 1 - Black Sun Rising" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friedman C. S)

Reluctantly, she let them lead her inside.
 Four

They used the river to gain the coast, though the swift-running water
made them feel an equivalent of human nausea. One was lost at sea, caught up
in Casca’s evening tide and swept far beyond any hope of earthly purchase
before his companions could reach him. His companions mourned, but only
briefly; he had known the risk, as all of them had, and had signaled his accep-
tance when he entrusted himself to the cold, treacherous waters. To mourn him
now - or to mourn anyone, at any time - would run counter to their very nature.
Regret was not in their vocabulary, nor sorrow. They knew only hunger and -
possibly - fear. And that special fealty which bound them together in purpose,
which demanded that they brave the ultimate barrier and walk the human lands,
in service to another.
By dawn they had found caves to hide in, ragged hidey holes gutted out of
granite cliffs by wind and ice and time. Below them the surf raged as tidal
patterns crossed and tangled, Casca and Domina and Prima battling for
dominance of the sea, while Sun and Core together ruled the sky. They slept as
the dead sleep, oblivious to such liquid disputes, resting on mounds of newly
killed animals, that of the caves’ former occupants. Whose flesh did not interest
them as such, though they licked at the dried blood once or twice upon
awakening, as if to cleanse their palates. What little food such animals could
supply had been drained from them quickly the night before, in battle, and flesh
without purpose offered these creatures little sustenance. And no pleasure. Hu-
mankind, on the other hand, could offer both: pleasure and sustenance
combined, more than even the rakh could offer. They knew that. They had
tasted. They hungered for more, and their hunger was powerful enough to take
the place of courage when it had to. As it often had to in those nights that they
skirted the sea.
After three and a half days - eight moonfalls - they sighted a light far out on
the water, that revealed the presence of a small trading craft. Using flares they
had brought for just such a purpose, they signaled a desperate cry for help. The
sudden splash of green light against the black sky illuminated a small vessel,
riding the waves with difficulty. An answering flare - life-orange, hot with
promise - was sent aloft, and they watched with nightwise eyes as a small
rowboat was lowered to the water, presumably to brave the deadly shoreline
and, if possible save them.
Food! one whispered.
Not yet, another cautioned.
We have a purpose, the third reminded them both.
They stood shoulder to shoulder on the cold northern shore, as they
imagined real humans might stand, and cheered on their saviors in desperate
voices - exactly as they imagined real humans might do. All the while arguing, in
whispers, the value of food versus obedience.
There’ll be humans enough once we reach the humlands, the wisest one
among them pointed out - and they savored that thought, while the ship’s men
braved rock and surf to reach the shore.
 Five

The interior of the boutique was small, and crowded with a tangle of