"Stephen Lawhead - Song Of Albion 3 - The Endless Knot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

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Hear, 0 Son of Albion, the prophetic word:
Sorrow and be sad, deep grief is granted Albion in triple measure. The Golden King in his kingdom
will strike his foot against the Rock of Contention. The Worm of fiery breath will claim the
throne of Prydain; Llogres will be without a lord. But happy shall be Caledon; the Flight of
Ravens will flock to her many-shadowed glens, and ravensong shall be her song.
When the Light of the Derwyddi is cut off, and the blood of bards demands justice, then let the
Ravens spread their wings over the sacred wood and holy mound. Under Ravens' wings, a throne is
established. Upon this throne, a king with a silver hand.
!n the Day of Strife, root and branch shall change places, and the newness of the thing shall pass
for a wonder. Let the sun be dull as amber, let the moon hide her face: abomination stalks the
land. Let the four winds contend with one another in dreadful blast; let the sound be heard among
the stars. The Dust of the Ancients will rise on the clouds; the essence of Albion is scattered
and torn among contending winds.
The seas will rise up with mighty voices. Nowhere is there safe harbor. Arianrhod sleeps in her
sea-girt headland. Though many seek her, she will not be found. Though many cry out to her, she
cannot hear their voices. Only the chaste kiss will restore her to her rightfulplace.
Then shall rage the Giant of Wickedness, and terrify all with the keen edge of his sword. His eyes
will flash forth fire; his lips shall drip poison. With his great host he will despoil the island.
All who oppose him will be swept away in the flood of wrongdoing
Dark Flames


A. fire rages in Albion. A strange, hidden fire, dark-flamed, invisible to the eye. Seething and
churning, it burns, gathering flames of darkness into its hot black heart. Unseen and unknown, it
burns.
These flames of darkness are insatiable; they grow, greedy in their spreading, consuming all,
destroying all. Though the flames cannot be seen, the heat scorches and singes, searing flesh and
bone alike; it saps the strength, and withers the will. It blisters virtue, corrodes courage; it
turns love and honor to hard, dark embers.
The dark fire is an evil and ancient enemy, older than the Earth. II has no face, no body, limbs,
or members to be engaged and fought, much less quenched and conquered. Only flames, insidious
tongues, and hidden dark sparks that blow and scatter, blow and scatter on every fretful wind.
And nothing can endure the dark fire. Nothing can stand against the relentless, scathing
corruption of the unseen flames. It will not be extinguished until all that exists in this worlds-
realm is dead cold ash.

The oxhide at the door rippled as Tegid Tathal stepped into the hut. His quick eyes searched the
darkness; he could see again. His blindness had been healed, or at least transmuted somehow into
vision by the renewing waters of the lake. For he saw me sitting in
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the straw on the floor, and he asked, "What are you doing?"
"Thinking," I replied, flexing the fingers of my silver hand one by one. That hand! Beauty made
tangible in fine, flawless silver. A treasure of value beyond imagining. A gift to me-a warrior's
compensation, perhaps-from a deity with a most peculiar sense of humor. Most peculiar.
Tegid assures me that it is the gift of Dagda Samil4anac, the Swift Sure Hand himself. He says it
is the fulfillment of a promise made by the lord of the grove. The Swift Sure Hand, by his