"02 - The Hawk Eternal 1.1a" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

Gaelen was confused. He had never been this far into the highlands. No lowlander had. This was forbidden territory. The clansmen were not a friendly people, and though they occasionally

came into Ateris to trade, it was well-known to be folly for any city-dweller to attempt a return visit.

He tried to remember how he had come here. He seemed to recall voices as he struggled to reach the trees, but the memory was elusive and there had been so many dreams.

At the back of the cave the man called Oracle watched the boy eating and smiled. The lad was strong and wolf-tough. For the five days he had been here he had battled grimly against his wounds, never crying - even when, in his delirium, he had re-lived fear-filled moments of his young life. He had regained consciousness only twice in that time, accepting silently the warm broth that Oracle held to his lips.

'I see you are feeling better,' said the old man, stepping from the shadows.

The boy jumped and winced as the stitches pulled. Looking round, he saw a tall, frail, white-bearded man dressed in grey robes, belted at the waist with a goat-hair rope.

'Yes. Thank you.'

'What is your name?'

'Gaelen. And you?'

'I no longer use my name, but it pleases the Farlain to call me Oracle. If you are hungry I shall warm some broth; it is made from the liver of pigs and will give you strength.'

Oracle moved to the fire, stooping to lift a covered pot to the flames. 'It will be ready soon. How are your wounds?'

'Better.'

The old man nodded. The eye caused me the most trouble. But I think it will serve you. You will not be blind, I think. The wound in your side is not serious, the lance piercing just above the flesh of the hip. No vital organ was cut.'

'Did you bring me here?'

'No.' Using the iron rod, Oracle lifted the lid from the pot. Taking a long-handled wooden spoon from a shelf, he stirred the contents. Gaelen watched him in silence. In his youth he must have been a mighty man, thought the boy. Oracle's arms were bony now, but the wrists were thick and his frame broad. The old man's eyes were light blue under thick brows, and they glittered like water on ice. Seeing the boy staring at him, he chuckled. 'I was the Farlain Hunt Lord,' he

said, grinning. 'And I was strong. I carried the Whorl boulder for forty-two paces. No man has bettered that in thirty years."

'Were my thoughts so obvious?' Gaelen asked .

'Yes,' answered the Oracle. The broth is ready."

They ate in silence, spooning the thick soup from wooden bowls and dipping chunks of oatmeal loaf into the steaming liquid.

Gaelen could not finish the broth. He apologised, but the old man shrugged.

'You've hardly eaten at all in five days, and though you are ravenous your stomach has shrunk. Give it a few moments, then try a little more.'

'Thank you.'

'You ask few questions, young Gaelen. Is it that you lack curiosity?'

The boy smiled for the first time. 'No, I just don't want any answers yet."

Oracle nodded. 'You are safe here. No one will send you back to the Aenir. You are welcome, free to do as you wish. You are not a prisoner. Now, do you have any questions?'