"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 4 - Into Narsindal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)Looking at them, the thought of Sylvriss, Hawklan and Isloman came inexorably to Arinndier’s mind.
They should be through the mountains by now . . . But the route taken by Sylvriss’s party was little used, and that taken by Isloman’s was virtually unexplored. And as far as could be seen from Eldric’s stronghold, snow had come to the higher, inner mountains unexpectedly early. Of course there was nothing he could do, but it took some effort to remind himself of that. ‘What’s that?’ Tel-Mindor’s voice interrupted Arinndier’s brooding. The Goraidin was holding his hand up for silence and craning forward intently. Unconsciously, the others imitated him. Faintly, the sound of distant singing reached them. It came and went, carried on the slight breeze. ‘I hope it’s not some kind of celebration for us,’ Arinndier said, patting his stomach. The remark brought back to Jaldaric his tormented evening at Pedhavin when the villagers had held an impromptu feast for them before he had had to return silently on his treacherous errand to snatch away Tirilen. Several times during that evening he had forgotten utterly why he was there in the whirl of the music and the dancing. Then his purpose would return to chill him to the heart like a mountain wind striking through a sun-baked and sweltering walker breasting a ridge. Since his welcome by the Orthlundyn however, this sad, dark thread running though his memory had faded a little, and the happiness he had felt had become more dominant. He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Lord,’ he said. ‘If it’s a celebration, they’ll soon dance the food off us.’ When they reached the next village however, despite the fact that there was quite a large crowd of villagers on the small central green, there was no special celebration awaiting them. In fact, though they were again offered food and drink, the attention that was paid to them was markedly less than that they had received hitherto. The main topic of interest was the distant singing. For distant it still was. As the Fyordyn had neared the village, the singing had grown a little louder and clearer, but its source was obviously not near at hand. ‘What is it?’ Arinndier asked, but the villagers did not know and with polite head shaking declined to be drawn into conjecture by these outlanders. Pausing by the village leaving-stone, Arinndier turned to the others. ‘Something strange is happening,’ he said. ‘Whether it’s bad or good I don’t know, but I think we should move a little faster.’ No one disagreed. Over the next few hours, the singing grew louder and, despite their concern, the four men could not be other than swept up in its elaborate pulsing rhythms and joyous melodies. ‘Somebody, somewhere, is celebrating without a doubt,’ Berryn said. ‘That is amazing singing.’ But Arinndier frowned slightly. ‘Amazing indeed,’ he said. ‘But who could sing so long and so well, and with such power that it carries so far and so clearly?’ |
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