"Roger Taylor - Hawklan 5 - Return of the Sword" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

Surprise washed over him. ‘Youare a Cadwanwr, aren’t you?’ came the reply, full of sudden realization
and no small amount of excitement. ‘Just wait there a moment.’

And, in a flurry of grey urgency, both wolves were gone. Andawyr shook his head as if to reassure
himself that, notwithstanding his vaunted clarity of vision, what he had just seen and ‘heard’ had actually
happened. It helped him that he could hear occasional barking in the distance.

Wolves that spoke directly into his mind! He wanted to dismiss the idea out of hand. But he had heard
what he had heard. Then the memory of Hawklan returned to him again. Hawklan could both hear and
speak to most animals. But then, Hawklan was Hawklan and an exception to many rules.

He gave a self-deprecating shrug. He was still who he was, leader of the Cadwanol, much respected
counsellor to the wise, learned in the ways of the Power, blah blah – and he couldn’t hear or speak to
animals. Nor did he have any idea how Hawklan did, despite lengthy discussions with him.

All of which left him no alternative but to investigate the matter.

Straightening his scruffy grey robe Andawyr set off quickly up the steep grassy bank in the direction the
second wolf had taken. Briefly it occurred to him that not being unreasonably afraid of wolves was one
thing, chasing after them quite another, but the thought was lost amid the curiosity that was now powering
him forward. He stood for a moment on the rocky outcrop that the first wolf had chosen for a vantage
and looked down at where he had been sitting.

Crafty devils, he thought. Pack hunters. If they had been inclined to attack him he would have had
precious little chance. Even though he had sensed the one above him, the other could have seized him
effortlessly. Tactics, tactics, he mused. And where was your awareness, your sensitivity to the nuances of
your surroundings, great leader? As scattered and disordered as that damned stream, he concluded, with
a scowl. He stooped down to examine the immediate terrain.

A dark stain of dampness on a small stone showed that it had been turned over recently and some
scuffing of the grass bounding the merging rock indicated which way the animals had gone. It was not up
the hill but along the contour towards the shoulder of the mountain to his right. Andawyr sniffed
thoughtfully and massaged his squat nose. A little caution managed to force its way into his thoughts
again.

Chasing wolves across the mountain. Is this a good idea?

He rationalized. They’d run away once, they’d probably run away again. Besides, he had the Power if
he really needed it, and he wasn’t going to be taken unawares again. And why not go this way, anyway?
It was still early, the weather promised to be marvellous for the rest of the day, and while this was not the
way he had originally intended to go, it was as good as any. He quickly ran mentally through a route back
to the Cadwanen to confirm to himself that he was not being recklessly impulsive, then he dismissed the
caution completely and strode off towards the distant skyline.

Questions bubbled through him, matching the rhythm of his steps. These animals had touched his mind!
How could that be? Had he suddenly, unknowingly acquired Hawklan’s gift? Was it some inadvertent
consequence of his latest studies into the Power? And if so, would there be others? And would they all
be so benign? It was not a particularly welcome idea. He stopped the self-interrogation abruptly. It was
going nowhere and it was serving only to cloud his thoughts. He went over what had happened again,