"Stephen Lawhead - Dragon King 02 - The Warlords of Nin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

When they reached the shelter of the trees they could look once again far
down the road; there was not a single person to be seen.
“This becomes stranger with every step,” said Quentin.
Toli swung himself down from his horse and walked along the road, his
eyes searching the dust for any signs which might hold an explanation of
the disappearance of the group they had both seen quite dearly only a short
white before.
They moved forward slowly. Quentin watched the wooded area to the
right of the road. Then Toli stopped and knelt down. He traced his finger
around the outline of footprints in the dust.
“They stopped here before leaving the road... there.” He pointed into the
trees.
“How many were there?”
“I cannot say from these signs. But there were men and women, children
too.”
“Humph!” The utterance was a puzzled snort. “I wonder what has sent
them scurrying into the woods? Not the sight of two horsemen, surely.”
Toli shrugged and climbed back into the saddle. “Here is something else
we must remember to tell the King.”
“Indeed we will.”
At dusk they camped in a grassy glade just off the road. The sun sent
ruby fingers sifting through the gossamer clouds which moved gracefully
across the violet arc of heaven. Quentin stood in a meadow dotted with
yellow flowers that brushed pollen-laden heads against his legs. With his
arms crossed on his chest and a look of dreamy concentration he
contemplated the imposing shape before him: high up on its plateau, the
thin trail leading up like a white wisp rising from the lower ground, stood
the High Temple of Ariel.
“You miss your old home, no doubt,” said Toli coming up behind him.
“No...” said Quentin absently, then laughed as he stirred and looked into
Toli’s dark brown eyes. “No more than one misses the shadows once he
walks in sunshine. I was only thinking of the time I spent in that temple,
for me days of loneliness and frustration, of endless studying and not
finding the one I really sought. I would not have made a very good
priest—I could never see the sense in anointing the sacred rock of the
temple. It seemed like such a waste of expensive oil, though others
esteemed it a fine gift.
“And the sacrifices—the gold bracelets, silver bowls and carefully
groomed animals—simply made the priests wealthier and fatter than they
already were.”
“Whist Orren demands more than bracelets, bowls or flesh. And he lives
not only in temples made by men, but in their lives.”
“Yes, the God Most High holds out freedom to men; the price is
unbending devotion. The lesser gods do not demand as much, but who can
know them? They are like the mists on the water— when the sun touches
them, they vanish.”
They turned and went back to settle themselves for the night. They ate,
and Toli turned the horses out to graze in the sweet grass as evening
gathered its long purple robes about the quiet glade.
Quentin lay with his head resting upon his saddle with a clear,