"Lawrence Watt-Evans - Dus 1 - Lure Of The Basilisk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

The snow actually did little to slow the warbeast, whose padded paws and
long legs had been intended for all weather, but the difficulty of being sure
of the road's location caused Garth to keep the beast's speed down and to stop
every so often to reconnoiter. As a result, it was a full week before he
crossed the hills onto the Plain of Derbarok, a distance he could ordinarily
have traveled in half that time. That week included two brief delays to allow
his warbeast to hunt its own food. Even had he wanted to, it would have been
impossible for Garth to carry with him enough meat to feed the immense hybrid,
especially in view of its preference for fresh meat. Instead he loosed the
beast every third evening after he had made camp. Ordinarily it would have
been back by morning, but the poor hunting the region allowed had kept it away
until almost noon on both occasions so far. Entering the open plain worried
the overman slightly, as he knew nothing of what wildlife was to be found in
such terrain. Although the beast was usually superbly obedient, if it became
hungry enough it would run amok, willing to devour even its master, and Garth
had no misconceptions as to how dangerous the creature could be. Even with axe
and broadsword, he had grave doubts that he could handle a starving warbeast.
It was with great relief, therefore, that he caught sight of large
animals grazing in the distance. They disappeared over the horizon before he
could decide whether to loose his mount or not, but he knew that where there
was any wildlife at all his beast would be able to find sufficient prey. This
weight lifted from his mind, he rode on calmly, meditating on his appointed
task, wondering what manner of living thing he would find and running through
every contingency he could think of, to be certain he was equipped as well as
he could manage. The matter of feeding the warbeast was ignored, as it had
been only two days since its last meal, the normal interval between feedings
being seventy-two hours.
Having decided that he was indeed sufficiently well prepared, Garth
pondered the purpose of his mission. The most likely products of his quest
would be serpents, rats, or spiders, and he could see no point in the capture
of vermin. The Forgotten King meant this errand as a trial, so there would be
difficulties encountered. It would appear that his intended quarry was not
mere vermin, then. But how could the old man be sure that the quarry he wanted
would be the first living thing that Garth found? It seemed unlikely in the
extreme that he had been to Mormoreth himself recently...
His thoughts were interrupted by a low growl from his mount. Its catlike
ears were laid back, as if in preparation for battle. Clearly, something had
disturbed the great black beast. He looked at it questioningly, but it gave no
indication of the direction from which danger threatened. Instead it stopped
dead in its tracks, its nostrils flared, its head lowered as if ready either
to receive a charge or to launch one itself; yet the head wavered slightly
from side to side. The beast was plainly as unsure in which quarter the threat
lay as was its master, and Garth thought it was unusually uneasy.
He unsheathed his broadsword and held it at ready; his own senses had as
yet detected no sign of danger, but he trusted the keener perceptions of his
mount. It had saved him before.
His eyes swept the plain, a vast expanse of drying mud, the winter snow
melted on this side of the hills. It seemed empty as far as the horizon ahead
and to either side, while behind lay only the barren, unthreatening ridge. He
could see no danger. Closer at hand he saw no snakes, no pitfalls that could