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

their pikes and rushed forward to take . . . the girl. She killed three of them with terrible skull-splitting
blows, but . . .

‘So I slew her. I slew my friend. With a single stroke. I saw her head tumbling red and gold down the
slope and into the darkness under those countless trampling feet.’ He shook his head. ‘Better that than
that she be taken alive.

‘The rest of her attackers fled back to their pikes and the enemy began its final slow advance. Back to
back we held. Pushed aside and broke their long spears. Killed several. Then my last friend and ally fell
and I . . .’ He faltered.

‘He said “I’m sorry,” even as he fell . . .

‘That last burden was my end and I too sank to my knees . . .’

Chapter 1

Startled, Jaldaric spun round as the rider appeared suddenly out of the trees and galloped to his side.
His right hand began moving reflexively towards his sword, but a cautionary hiss from Tel-Mindor
stopped it. Abruptly, a second rider appeared on the other side of the road and moved to flank
Arinndier.

Tel-Mindor looked behind. Three more riders were following. Despite himself, his concern showed
briefly on his face. Not because the five men seemed to offer any immediate menace, though they were
armed, but because he had not seen them, and that indicated both wilful concealment and no small skill
on their part. However, his Goraidin nature did not allow the concern to persist. Instead he began to feel
a little easier; the actual appearance of the men confirmed the unease he had felt growing for some time.

‘Hello,’ said the first new arrival to Jaldaric, his face unexpectedly friendly. ‘I’m sorry I startled you.
We’ve been following you since you came out of the mountains, but your friend here,’ – he nodded
towards Tel-Mindor – ‘was on the point of spotting us, so I thought it would save problems if we
approached you directly.’

His manner was pleasant enough but, still unsettled by the man’s abrupt arrival, Jaldaric’s reply was
harsher than he had intended.

‘Following?’ he said. ‘Do the Orthlundyn always follow visitors to their country?’
 ‘No, no,’ the man replied with a smile. ‘You’re the first.’ His smile turned into a laugh. ‘In fact you’re
the only people who’ve come out of Fyorlund since we started border duty. It was good practice for us.’
He extended his hand. ‘My name’s Fyndal, and this is my brother Isvyndal.’

Jaldaric’s natural courtesy made him take the hand, though part of him remembered Aelang, and was
alert for a sudden attack. ‘This is the Lord Arinndier, the Rede Berryn and his aide Tel-Mindor,’ he said,
indicating his three companions. ‘I’m Jaldaric, son of the Lord Eldric.’

This time it was Fyndal who started. ‘Jaldaric,’ he echoed, his eyes widening. Then, as if uncertain how
to phrase the question, ‘Jaldaric who came with Dan-Tor and kidnapped Tirilen?’

Jaldaric’s face coloured at the reminder of his previous visit to Orthlund. ‘Yes,’ he said awkwardly,
looking down at his hands briefly. ‘To my shame.’