"Karl Edward Wagner - Kane 02 - Death Angels Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

Temro was that!" he muttered. At first he had thought his pursuers had blundered upon him, but the
horse's reaction and his own sensations dispelled that impression. He had seen nothing, heard
nothing--for the howling storm had effectively blotted out and muffled both vision and sound. Yet Kane
and his horse had both definitely sensed the presence of something, and Kane knew better than to doubt
such extrasensory evidence. The strange workings of his inner mind were not unfamiliar to him, unnatural
talents utilized and strengthened throughout his amazing career. And Kane was certain that some form of
horrible death had been very close to him in the storm.

Now be strained his senses against the blizzard, while the horse plodded dismally through the rising
drifts, his sudden surge of energy dissipated. For a long time there was nothing, until Kane seemed to
hear a wild howling that was not of the wind. He inhaled carefully, drawing the frozen air deep into his
lungs. Faintly he began to catch the scent of wolf on the stormwind. The horse too caught the scent, and
he snorted fitfully.

Suddenly Kane halted. The howling had become more pronounced and seemed to come from many
throats. To his keen nostrils came the unmistakable sour scent of damp wolf fur. Somewhere ahead of
him--distance was impossible to gauge in the storm--lurked a large pack of wolves. Kane was puzzled
once more. From their cries the pack was full in hunt--but it seemed impossible that a wolfpack would be
foraging in such a raging blizzard. Perhaps the limits of starvation had driven them abroad, he mused. In
that case it was damned lucky that he was downwind.

But this advantage might vanish with a shift of wind and Kane turned his mount away from the invincible
pack, putting the wind to his back. Might as well back-track, he thought grimly. With no more sense of
direction than he now had, any course was as well as another or as pointless. As he forged onward
through the drifts the howling was drowned out in the greater voice of the storm. Just as it was swallowed
up altogether, Kane thought he could also hear mingled in the cries of horses and men. But the sounds
were too faint for any hope of clarity, and Kane was too exhausted to pursue the fantasies of his
tormented senses.

The horse plodded on and on, stumbling more frequently now, but refusing to fall. Kane doubted if the
beast would be able to rise once it slid down again--doubted if he would be able to remount if it could
regain its feet. Time and distance had no meaning. He was utterly adrift from the world of time and space;
there was only himself and the horse caught up in the rushing blizzard. Whether he moved or only the
wind moved, Kane could not tell. Nor could he distinguish whether the bits of white moved through the
darkness, or flecks of blackness through a sea of white. Now his entire body was growing altogether
numb. Soon he would be unable to feel the horse on which he rode, and then there would only be Kane,
bobbing helplessly, hopelessly in this maelstrom of ice.

This was infinity.

Abruptly something clawed at Kane's face. He reeled and lashed out at it drunkenly. His frozen hand
encountered a tree branch. Several more whipped at him, as the horse painfully slipped its way between
several trees.

Kane forced himself out of stupor, gathering together the final dregs of his remarkable strength. If the
horse had blundered into a forest there was hope yet. It seemed unlikely, for there had been no body of
trees in sight before the storm had hit--but how could he know how far the horse had carried him. The
wind's roar became muted, and its force was broken by the trees, causing the snow to fall slowly, sifting
through the branches. The blackness of night became settled, and in this darkness Kane's eyes could
penetrate--although another man would still be relatively blind.