"Roger Taylor - Caddoran" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

could bring an almost uncanny intensity to the most trivial of actions – and it was rarely possible to
predict what he would do next. He sniffed his damp finger then, without hesitation, sucked it noisily. His
face wrinkled in distaste and he spat drily and wiped his hand across his mouth.
‘I just told you it was salt,’ Hyrald said. Almost in spite of himself, and as had proved the case before, he
felt his irritation turning into a mixture of compassion and amusement at Thyrn’s naïve curiosity. ‘It’s the
sea all right. I’ve only seen it once, and that briefly and a long time ago – before Adren here was born –
but that smell’s unmistakable. Takes me right back.’ He pulled a wry face as he pushed the old memories
away. They were too much of a burden now, too full of different times. ‘I suppose it’s quiet because
there’s no wind, or . . .’

‘Move!’

The voice was soft, but commanding. It was Rhavvan’s. He was abruptly among them, urging them
forwards, his arms spread as if to gather them all together. There was the same purposefulness in his
moving as previously there had been in his motionless watching. It allowed no pause. Thyrn staggered to
his feet fearfully, but made no sound. Hyrald and Adren took his arms to steady him, but he needed little
support and was almost immediately half walking, half trotting ahead of them, his uncle following close
behind him.

Hyrald looked significantly at Rhavvan serving as rearguard. He was answered with a brief hand mime
that told him, ‘Riders,’ and fingers held up which said, ‘Two, maybe three.’

Hyrald nodded and drew his sword nervously. Both circumstances and his personal inclination led him
towards evasion in preference to confrontation, but with no idea where they were or where they were
going, the latter was very probable. Noting her brother’s action, Adren drew her sword also. They
strode on in silence, Rhavvan occasionally inclining his head to catch any sounds behind them. Hyrald
took solace from the fact that though they were lost, so too were their pursuers, and the mist hid
everyone alike. Then the soft padding of his feet intruded to dispel this faint comfort and he looked down
– mist would not hide the footprints they were leaving.

Even as the realization impinged on him, Rhavvan grimaced and hissed out, ‘Stand, they’re on us!’

Nordath moved in front of Thyrn protectively, his sword uneasily extended. Thyrn crouched low behind
him. In front of them in turn, Hyrald and Adren stood either side of Rhavvan. Both kept a good distance
away from him however, noting that he was hefting his long staff in preference to his sword, and to be hit
accidentally by that was only marginally less damaging than being hit on purpose!

Then Rhavvan was crouching low and signalling them to do the same.

Struggling to control his breathing, Hyrald screwed up his eyes and peered into the shifting greyness.
More thoughts that he did not want leaked into his mind. What was he doing here? What madness was
abroad that would make Vashnar proclaim the Death Cry against them, turning him, his sister and
Rhavvan from hunters into hunted? He tightened his grip on the sword and gritted his teeth to dispel the
questions; there were no answers to be had here – they were only a hindrance. He must focus completely
on what was happening.

Within a heartbeat of this resolve, a shapeless movement in the mist ahead of him formed itself into a
rider.

Perhaps they’re not after us. Perhaps they’re fishermen or something. Not everyone in the country’s