"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 2 - Fall Of Fyorlund" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

creature from the mythical past. Hawklan wanted to dismiss the idea as a foolish old man’s rambling, but
Andawyr had radiated a sincerity and demonstrated skills that precluded such an easy escape.

But it must surely be nonsense? For all his ignorance of his own past, Hawklan certainly did not feel he
was anything other than a very frail mortal. Yet Andawyr had seen that too. ‘You may be our greatest
hope,’ he had said. ‘But at the moment I’myour greatest hope, and you, along with everyone else, are in
great danger.’ Then, ‘Great forces have already been set against you. You need protection until you can
be taught to know yourself.’ And finally, ‘Watch the shadows, your days of peace are ended.’ The
words were chilling. There was solace in none of them.

And, unbidden, a new awareness had grown in him, making him seek for enmity as well as friendship in
strange faces, danger as well as quiet calm where trees threw the road into dappled shade, treachery as
well as hospitality when they passed through some village.

But for all his sombre preoccupations, the journey down through Riddin was uneventful. There seemed
to be no pursuit from the Gretmearc and neither he nor Gavor saw any of the sinister little brown birds
following them. None the less, the further they moved from the Gretmearc the easier Hawklan began to
feel. It seemed that just as some compulsion had drawn him to the Gretmearc, now something was
drawing him back to Anderras Darion. He longed to hear familiar voices talking of mundane matters, and
to see familiar faces and surroundings, and he found himself almost elated when they turned from the road
and began moving westward along the lesser roads and pathways through the grassy foothills that would
lead them back into the mountains and towards Orthlund. Gavor, too, rose high and joyous into the
spring sky.

The following day was windy and sunny, with white billowing clouds flying busily across a blue sky.
Hawklan had been continuing a relentless pace uphill and had stopped for a brief rest and a meal. He
was lying on a grassy bank at the side of the road, staring idly over the Riddin countryside spread out
beneath him and half-listening to the happy babble of a family who were picnicking nearby. The sun was
warm on his face and he felt very relaxed, in spite of his dark anxieties.

He had made a small truce with himself – whoever I am, or have been, and whatever I did or have yet to
do, and whatever has happened or will happen to me, there is nothing to be gained in endlessly fretting
over it, other than confusion and dismay. All will become clear in time . . . probably. Just watch and wait
and learn.

Looking up at the moving clouds, he realized that the image of dark and distant clouds lingering
persistently at the edges of his mind seemed to have gone. Now, like the real ones above him, they were
overhead. But they contained no spring lightness; they were dour and menacing. He knew that what he
had been fearing had arrived, but he could not yet see what it was.

Suddenly he noticed that the noise of the picnicking family had stopped and he turned to see what had
happened. Apparently the father of the group had called for silence and he was slowly rising to his feet
and staring up into the sky intently. As he rose, he lifted two of the children to their feet and, with an
extended finger, directed their gaze out across the countryside to where he himself was staring. The
whole family looking in one direction, Hawklan found his own gaze drawn inexorably the same way.

At first he could see nothing unusual, then a familiar black dot came into view. Surely the group couldn’t
be staring at Gavor? he thought, resting his cheek on the cool sweet-smelling grass and looking at them
again. Then Gavor landed clumsily and hastily by his side in a state of some considerable excitement.