The Lightstone: The Silver Sword: Part Two. David Zindell

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СКАЧАТЬ I had a map, I would show you,’ Rinald said. ‘But there’s no good route from Sakai to Yarkona. If a Sakayan army tried the Red Desert, the heat would kill them like flies if the Ravirii didn’t first.’

      ‘What about the direct route through the mountains?’

      ‘That would be even more dangerous,’ Rinald said. ‘The White Mountains, at least the stretch of that range between Yarkona and Sakai, is the land of the Ymanir. They are much worse than the Ravirii.’

      He went on to say that the Ymanir were also called the Frost Giants; they were savage men nearly eight feet tall and covered with white fur, who were known to kill all who entered their country and eat them.

      ‘Frost Giants, is it now?’ Maram exclaimed as he shuddered. ‘Oh, too much, too much.’

      I felt my own insides churning as I looked at the war-torn landscape to the east and tried to make out the great White Mountains beyond. In the haze of the burning distances, I saw a golden room whose great iron door was slowly closing like that of a vault. We had to enter the room safely and get out again before we were trapped inside.

      ‘Val,’ Maram said to me, ‘I don’t have a very good feeling about this land. Perhaps we should turn back before it’s too late.’

      I looked at him then, and the fire in my eyes told him that I wasn’t about to come within inches of fulfilling the quest simply to turn back. This same fire blazed inside Kane and Atara, and in Liljana, Alphanderry and Master Juwain. It smoldered, too, beneath the damp leaves of Maram’s fear, even if he didn’t know it.

      ‘All right, all right, don’t look at me like that,’ Maram said to me. ‘If we must go on, we must. But let’s go soon, okay?’

      And with that, we finished our little meal and thanked the goatherd for his hospitality. Then Rinald helped us finally decide our route: we would cut through Karkut and Madhvam toward the northeast along the line of the Nashbrum River. And then turn southeast through Virad’s canyon lands, coming eventually to a little spur running down from the White Mountains that separated Virad and Inyam from Khaisham. There we would find a pass called the Kul Joram, and beyond that, Khaisham.

      ‘I wish you well,’ Rinald said to us as he mounted his horse. ‘I’ll remind Lord Nicolaym to keep a few rooms empty for your return.’

      We watched him ride off toward the rocks above us and the castle that we couldn’t see. And then we turned to mount our horses as well.

      All that hot afternoon we rode along the line that Rinald had advised. We found the Nashbrum, a smallish river that ran down from the mountains and seemed to narrow and lose substance to the burning earth as it flowed toward the Nashthalan. Cottonwood trees grew along its course, and we kept their shimmering leaves in sight as we paralleled it almost all the way to Madhvam. We were lucky to come across none of the traitorous lords or knights who had gone over to the Kallimun. We made camp along the Nashbrum’s sandy banks, keeping a careful watch.

      But the night passed peacefully enough; only the howling of some wolves pointing their snouts toward the moon reminded us that we were not alone in this desolate country. When morning came, clear and blue and hinting of a sweltering heat later in the day, we set out early and rode quickly through what coolness we could find. It was good, I thought, that we kept close to the river; the sweating horses made free with its water and so did we. By the time the sun crested the sky, we decided to break for our midday meal beneath the shade of a great, gnarled cottonwood. No one was hungry enough to eat, but at least we had some cover from the blistering sun.

      But soon enough, we had to set out again. Toward mid-afternoon, some big clouds formed up and let loose a quick burst of thunder and rain. It lasted only long enough to wet the ursage and dried grasses and the sharp rocks that tore at our horses’ hooves. It was a measure of our desire to reach Khaisham that we still made a good distance that day. By the time the sun had left its fierceness behind it in the waves of heat radiating off the glowing land, we found ourselves in the domain of Virad. To the north of us, and to the east, too, the knifelike peaks of the White Mountains caught the red fire of the setting sun.

      ‘Well, that was a day,’ Maram said. He wiped the sweat from his dripping brown curls and dismounted to look for some wood for the night’s fire. ‘I’m hot, I’m thirsty, I’m tired. And what’s worse,’ he said, pressing his nose to his armpit, ‘I stink. This heat is much worse than the rain in the Crescent Mountains.’

      ‘Hmmph,’ Atara said to him, ‘it’s only worse because you’re suffering from it now. Just wait until our return.’

      ‘If we do return,’ he muttered. He scratched at some beads of sweat in the thick beard along his neck as he looked about. ‘Val, are you sure this is Virad?’

      I pointed along the river where it abruptly turned north about five miles across the rocky ground ahead of us. I said, ‘Rinald told us to look for that turning. There, we’re to set our course to the southeast and so come to the pass after another forty miles.’

      Directly to the east of us, I saw, was a large swelling of black rock impossible to cross on horses. And so, at the river’s turning, we would ride up and around it.

      ‘Well, then, we must have ridden nearly forty miles today.’

      ‘Too far,’ Kane said, coming over to us and studying the terrain around us. ‘We pressed the horses too hard. Tomorrow we’ll have to satisfy ourselves with half that distance.’

      ‘I don’t like the look of this country,’ Maram said. ‘I don’t want to remain here any longer than we have to.’

      ‘If we cripple the horses, we’ll be here even longer,’ Kane told him. ‘Do you want to walk to Khaisham?’

      That night, we fortified our camp with some of the logs and branches we found down by the river. The moon, when it rose over the black hills, was clearly waning though still nearly full. It set the wolves farther out on the plain to howling: a high-pitched, plaintive sound that had always unnerved Maram – and Liljana and Master Juwain, as well. To soothe them, Alphanderry plucked the strings of his mandolet and sang of ages past and brighter times to come when the Galadin and Elijin would walk the earth again. His clear voice rang out across the river, echoing from the ominous-looking rocks. It brought cheer to us all, though it also touched Kane with a deep dread I felt pulling at his insides like the teeth of something much worse than wolves.

      ‘Too loud,’ Kane muttered at Alphanderry. ‘This isn’t Alonia, eh? Nor even Surrapam.’

      After that Alphanderry sang more quietly, and the golden tones pouring from his throat seemed to harmonize with the wolves’ howls, softening them and rendering them less haunting. But then, above his beautiful voice and those of the wolves, from the north of us where the river turned into some low hills, came a distant keening sound that was terrible to hear.

      ‘Shhh,’ Maram said, tapping Alphanderry’s knee, ‘what was that?’

      Alphanderry now put down his mandolet and listened with the rest of us. Again came the far-off keening, and then an answering sound, much closer, from the hills to the east. It was like the shrieking of a cat and the scream of a wounded horse and the cries of the damned all bound up into a single, piercing howl.

      ‘That’s no wolf!’ Maram called out. ‘What is it?’

      Again came the howl, closer, and this time it had something of СКАЧАТЬ