"Karl Edward Wagner - Mirage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wagner Karl Edward)

the links painfully into his side.
A bad deal all around, mused Kane, once more cursing the
poor judgment that had led him to seek to hide among the rabble
rather than strike out on his own. Still, under the circumstances
he had been lucky enough to escape from the collapse of the
conspiracy, not to mention to survive this ambush. He looked
about him, the light of the newly risen full moon casting sufficient
illumination for his exceptional night vision to see clearly.
Silent. Still. Death. Cold moonlight cast over a strange
panorama of white shapes strewn carelessly, hopelessly across
the dark ground. Not even a hint of wind to break this frozen
tableau. Black trees casting shadows—can moonlight cast
shadows?—dark shapes clutching, covering the fallen. Contorted
young face—had death been so dear with that slash through his
belly? Perhaps the one who was asking Kane some forgotten
question when the attack came. Perhaps not. The moonlight gave
an unreal illumination to the scene, and faces firm and real by
sunlight now seemed hollow, fantastic. Kane was not certain
even that the pain in his tormented body was real.
Where am I now? he wondered, forcing thoughts into the blur
of his consciousness. Nearly out of the lands claimed to be
holdings of Chrosanthe—a very isolated area of the kingdom.
Chrosanthians avoided this forest region, and with that in mind
the fugitives had sought to escape along this route. Another bad
idea, Kane reflected. Jasseartion's vengeance had ignored his
subjects' dislike for this particular corner of the realm, but then
Talyvion's mercenaries had earned an especial hatred for
themselves during the abortive coup d'étàt.
The trees shimmered crazily when Kane gained his feet. At
least the cool night air soothed where the scourging sun had lent
additional agony to each move. Can't stay here, Kane realized.
The soldiers would return for their dead with morning—certainly
to loot the corpses. Only nightfall and their dread of the region
had kept them from this ritual.
The ghouls. That was it. Kane remembered that the
Chrosanthians had fought an uncommonly vicious civil war some
two centuries previous. This region had been exceptionally torn
apart by the struggle, with the victorious faction relentlessly
slaughtering the great lords together with their tenants.
Jasseartion's ancestors' handiwork. The area had never been
repopulated—several strange legends regarding the fate of those
victors who had attempted to establish themselves upon the
unburied bones of their luckless predecessors. And that ancient
carnage had attracted packs of ghouls to the area—or perhaps
made ghouls of the few starving survivors, Kane mused. Yes,
every reason to get away from this place as quickly as possible.
Damn! For a horse of any description!
 Wearily Kane recovered his fallen sword and limped away
among the white shapes patterned across the dark ground, his
feet slipping occasionally upon still darker patches. Wincing, he