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

‘I’ll find out at Anderras Darion?’ he suggested.

Fyndal’s smile broadened, though it did not outshine the concern in his face. ‘Indeed, Lord,’ he said.

Arinndier accepted the gentle rebuke at his own secrecy with good grace. ‘You won’t be accompanying
us yourselves?’

Fyndal shook his head. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘We have to finish our tour of duty here first.’

‘I doubt you’ll see any more travellers from Fyorlund,’ Arinndier said. ‘If you feel you’ll be needed with
your army.’

Fyndal bowed his head in acknowledgment. ‘Thank you, Lord,’ he said. ‘But had we been needed,
we’d have been sent for. Our orders were to watch, and watch we must.’

Berryn nodded in approval.

Then Fyndal glanced at his brother and the three others, and they were gone, disappearing silently back
into the noisy trees.

‘Just stay on this road,’ he said, turning back to the Fyordyn. ‘It’ll carry you straight to Anderras Darion.
And don’t hesitate to ask for food or shelter at any of the villages. They’ll be expecting you by the time
you arrive.’ And, with a brief farewell, he too was gone.

As the sound of hoof-beats dwindled, Tel-Mindor rode alongside Arinndier. ‘I didn’t see them following
us, Lord,’ he admitted. ‘Whoever they were, they weren’t ordinary soldiers. And it almost defies belief
to think that anyone could have been trained so well in just a few months.’

Arinndier nodded. ‘I agree with you,’ he said. ‘I think that whatever problems the Orthlundyn are having
in the mountains, they’re still keeping a very strict watch on their border with us, and, frankly, I don’t
blame them. As for the training . . .’ He shrugged. ‘The past months have reminded me of the service
they gave against the Morlider, and it was considerable. The Orthlundyn are a strange people. I’ve heard
them referred to as a remnant people at times. Not a phrase I’d care to use myself, but there aren’t many
of them, for sure, and it does prompt the question: remnant of what?’

****
As the day progressed, the quartet trotted steadily south through the cold damp wind.

At the top of a long hill, Arinndier grimaced. ‘It’s neither mellow like autumn, nor sharp like winter,’ he
said, reining his horse to a halt. ‘Let’s walk awhile, give the horses a rest.’ Then he looked around at the
countryside they had just ridden through. After a moment, he nodded reflectively to himself. Despite the
unwelcoming wind and the dull hues of the dying vegetation, the place had its own strange peace.

A sudden intake of breath cut across his reverie.

Turning, he saw that it was Jaldaric, and even as he looked at him, he saw the young man’s face, already
pale with cold, blanching further until it was almost white.

‘What is it, Jal?’ he asked anxiously.