"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 3 - Waking Of Orthlund" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Raise his High Guard and ride back to meet us. I’ll follow as soon as I’ve had him released – and his
son.’

Then he had embraced her, almost painfully, and with a simple command had effectively dismissed her.
‘As you love me, Sylvriss. And our child. Go. Go quickly. Prepare the way, First Hearer.’

And she had left, all questions momentarily silenced by the driving urgency of his manner. When they
gradually returned they could not then overwhelm the momentum of her own galloping spirit. But they
lingered. What was he going to do? How could he get the Lord Eldric and Jaldaric released? How was
he going to face Dan-Tor? And now, what was that terrible noise – no, more than a noise – that force,
that had shaken the countryside?

But Rgoric’s plea impelled her more than any command could have, and she must regain control of her
horse if she was to answer it. To falter here might be to jeopardize all. There would be time enough later
to find out what had happened in the City, and time enough when they met again to learn of his plans and
schemes.

The thought of Rgoric, renewed and whole again, burst into her mind like the sun through
thunder-clouds, and briefly she had a vision of riding by his side at the head of the Lords’ High Guards,
sweeping Dan-Tor and his Mathidrin out of Vakloss and into perdition, to restore again the Fyorlund that
had been and the life they should have had.

Despite her struggle with the horse, she smiled ruefully at the thought, so childlike in its simplicity.
However, its effect was oddly cathartic, and sensing the renewed control of its rider, the horse gradually
slowed in its frenzied thrashing until at last Sylvriss was able to lean forward and embrace its neck, saying
softly, ‘We’re whole again. Whatever that was, we’re here together, and unhurt.’

The horse was still fretful and its eyes rolled white, but gently Sylvriss released the reins and let it have its
head until its circling and pawing gradually stopped.

Sitting back in her saddle she instinctively reached up to pull back her black hair that had flown free and
wild in her struggle with the horse. As she did so she felt the wind cold on her forehead and wiping her
hand across it she found it was wet with perspiration.

Looking up from her glistening fingers she stared for a moment at the ragged clouds flying overhead,
carried on the gusting wind that had shaken the City all day, like an uncertain harbinger carrying messages
of change. Now it seemed that even the clouds were fleeing.
 Turning, she gazed back to look at the City, but it was out of sight, hidden by the brow of the
tree-covered hill she had been descending when the noise and shaking had so nearly ended her journey.
What could it have been? came the thought again. Now in control of her mount she felt she could allow
some concession to this question, and gently she urged the horse back up the hill until the City came
partly into sight.

All seemed normal. The palace towers rose up majestically, dominating but not overwhelming their
surroundings, and through the trees she could see the tops of many familiar buildings. Yet on the wind
there were strange noises. A crowd? She thought she had heard a crowd nearby as she had left the
palace to clatter through the quiet by-ways of the City, but she had dismissed the notion; the Mathidrin
held the streets too well for that. Now, as the distant sounds vied for her attention with the rustling trees
she thought she heard again many voices raised in . . . anger . . . fear?