"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 4 - Into Narsindal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Andawyr nodded, and waited for the counter-attack.

‘And may I know the name of my rescuer?’ Agreth asked.

Andawyr teased him a little. ‘Ah,’ he said smiling broadly. ‘That’s the name of your horse. I’m only your
host. But my name’s Andawyr.’

This revelation produced a reaction that he had not expected. Agreth frowned briefly then, as
recognition came into them, his eyes widened and, reaching forward he seized Andawyr’s wrists.

‘From the Caves of Cadwanen,’ he said almost breathlessly. ‘Oslang’s leader. On your way, as I am, to
Anderras Darion to spread your news and to see what’s happened to this man Hawklan.’

Despite himself, Andawyr’s mouth fell open.

‘Yes,’ he managed to stammer. ‘But . . .’

Agreth raised a hand. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, and unsealing the entrance he thrust his head outside.
Drawing back, he said, ‘The wind’s dropped, but it’s still snowing. Let’s get moving while we can still
see. With luck the travelling should get easier as we move down.’

Andawyr opened his mouth to speak again, but Agreth was taking charge. ‘I know Oslang’s tale, and
therefore yours,’ he said, cutting ruthlessly through all discussion as he quickly fastened his cloak about
him. ‘Let me tell you mine as we travel.’

Andawyr looked through the open entrance. Agreth’s advice was sound. Visibility was reasonable, but
the sky was leaden and the snow was falling heavily. Nothing was to be gained except danger by staying
here to relate histories.

‘Very well, Line Leader,’ he said with a smile. ‘We’ll walk and talk awhile.’

It took the two men only minutes to dismantle and stow the tent and soon they were strapping their
packs on to Agreth’s horse.

As he secured the load, Agreth looked around, his face anxious.

‘What’s the matter?’ Andawyr asked.

‘I’ve never travelled these mountains before,’ Agreth replied. ‘I’ve a map, but it’s hard to read and I’ve
been relying on the path to a large extent. Now . . .’ He shrugged and gestured at the snow-covered
landscape.

Andawyr looked at him and then followed his gaze, trying to view this cold, beautiful terrain with the
eyes of a man brought up on the broad, rolling plains of Riddin. The Riddinvolk loved the mountains that
bordered their land – but only to look at.

‘Give me your map,’ he said simply.

Agreth fumbled underneath his cloak and eventually produced the document. Andawyr pulled the
Riddinwr towards him and, with their two bodies sheltering the map from the falling snow, carefully