"Roland Green - Conan and the Mists of Doom" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Roland)

Prologue

The valley slashed into the flank of the Kezankian Mountains like a sword cut.

The entrance deceived the casual eye, being but a narrow cleft in a spur of

Mount Goadel. The mist often swirling about the heights aided the deception,

giving the cleft the air of a place uncanny and unwholesome, where things a sane

man would shun might lurk in wait.

Often the wind rose, driving away the mist, but raising a howling as of demons

and lost souls as it whipped around the rocks. The wind-cry likewise kept

travelers from being too curious about the valley.

It had been many years since travelers had allowed themselves to be curious

about the valley, or anything else in this part of the Kezankian range. It was
far from any place that concerned civilized folk, and too plainly a good home

for bandits, outlaws, and still more debased forms of humanity. There were even

tales of tribes of ape-men, kin to those of the Himelian peaks in Vendhya,

dwelling above the snow line.

The man who led the column of soldiers up the slope toward the cleft knew more

than most of the truth about the valley. It had indeed been home to bandits and

outlaws. Some of these now followed him, won to obedience—if not loyalty—by gold

in one hand and a whip in the other. Others, he and his company had slain with

their own hands. Still others had fled, to become bleaching bones when the

vultures were done with them.

About ape-men, Captain Muhbaras knew little and cared less. If they did not

trouble him, he would leave them in whatever peace their lofty homes might

afford them. He personally doubted that any creature dwelling among eternal snow

and ice could have the wits of a louse, but then he had grown to manhood among

the gurgling wells and trees sagging with ripe fruit of a Khorajan nobleman's