"Roger Taylor - Ibryen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roger)

on to the rocks proper it would be much lighter. For a moment he considered the wisdom of what he
was doing. It was not essential that he personally viewed the adjacent valleys, any of his senior officers
could have done it. But even as he hesitated, he felt again a slight tension urging him forward. Whatever it
was, it would not be ignored.

He set off slowly.

Though he kept his attention focused on the shadow-scape about him, and on his every footstep, he was
aware that what had been disturbing him for the past few days and nights was truly there. It permeated
his relaxed awareness, growing then fading but never truly disappearing, like the sound of a distant crowd
carried on the wind. Words such as ‘call’, ‘song’, floated into his mind, but none were truly adequate.

As he had estimated, the sun had risen when he came to the rockier reaches of the ridge. It was going to
be a fine spring day – not warm enough for idling in the sun, and probably very cold up on the ridge, but
heart-lifting for all that. He sat down, not so much to rest as to think. Far below he could make out the
village, small and seemingly fragile amid the peaks. It was not difficult for him to find it, but for a less
informed eye it would have been no easy task. Turfs covered both roofs and the shallow ramped walls
built from the local rocks, and a random arrangement on either side of a bustling stream which twisted
between large rocky outcrops ensured that the buildings were not readily distinguishable from the general
terrain. A few trees and bushes completed the visual confusion. It was not perfect, but it was adequate.
Caves would have been a wiser choice, but apart from there being too few suitable for the number of
people involved, there was something deeply repugnant about the idea of being driven underground by
the Gevethen. At least in these simple houses, Ibryen’s followers could live lives that bore some
resemblance to those that they had led previously. In other valleys, such crops as could be coaxed out of
the thin soil were grown, and cattle and sheep were tended. Barring discovery, they could survive here
indefinitely.

Instinctively, Ibryen looked up at the clear sky. When the Gevethen had first appeared, so too had a
great many small, rather sinister brown birds. Among the wilder rumours that had eventually sprung up to
surround the Gevethen was one that they used these birds as spies and that through their piercing yellow
eyes everything in the land could be seen. It was palpable nonsense, of course; the birds had probably
been carried there by accident – doubtless unusual storms on their normal migratory flights – for, a few
years later they vanished as abruptly as they had arrived. Nevertheless, the influence of the Gevethen was
so grim and all-pervasive, that the rumour lingered uncomfortably, and no one had seriously demurred
when it was suggested that the camp be disguised in such a way that it could not easily be seen from
above. After all, it couldn’t be denied that at the time of the disappearance of the birds, the Gevethen had
seemed to be more uneasy, less well-informed of events, could it?

Probably coincidence, Ibryen mused unconvincingly as he returned his gaze to the camp below. Putting
his hands on his knees, he levered himself upright, irritated at finding himself thinking about these old tales.
He began climbing over the rocks.

The sun was well above the horizon when he finally reached the ridge. Snow-covered peaks shone far
into the distance, brilliant and aloof, as if disdaining the frantic scrabblings of the mortals who flickered
their tiny lives away so hysterically beneath their timeless gaze.

A cold wind struck Ibryen’s sweating face as he clambered over the last few rocks. In years past he had
delighted in striding out along such ridges. Now, concealment being an almost permanent obsession, he
moved carefully, keeping low or otherwise ensuring that he did not present a conspicuous silhouette
against the skyline. It was just another example of the Gevethen’s pernicious influence, their gift of