Sky Trillium. Julian May

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СКАЧАТЬ river, where there were many wooded islands during the Dry Time. Most of these were submerged now, with the lofty gonda and kala trees that grew on them rising out of swirling black water. It would have been easy to lose the way, and several times the Prince had to correct Ralabun’s navigation. Unfortunately, the mirecraft of the old stablemaster was not nearly so expert as he pretended.

      ‘Here is the creek,’ Tolivar said at last.

      ‘Arc you sure?’ Ralabun looked doubtful. ‘It seems to me that we must go on further – ‘

      ‘No. It is here. I am quite certain. Turn in.’

      Grumbling, the Nyssomu bent to his oar. ‘The jungle round about here is already flooded and full of drifting debris. There’s no sign at all of a channel. I really think –’

      ‘Be silent!’ The Prince took up a stance in the bow. The few stars gave barely enough light to see by. The water soon became very shallow, with dense thickets of flag-reeds, lanceweed, and redfern between the towering trees. In the respite from the downpour, the wild creatures of the Mazy Mire gave voice. Insects chirped, clicked, buzzed, and made musical chiming sounds. Pelriks hooted, night-carolers warbled, karuwoks splashed and hissed, and a distant gulbard uttered its throaty hunting cry.

      When Ralabun could no longer use the sculling oar because of the shallowing water and clogging driftwood, he cried out, ‘This can’t be right, Hiddenheart!’

      The boy controlled his exasperation with some effort. ‘I will guide us while you pole the boat along. Go between those two great wilunda trees. I know the way.’

      Ralabun grudgingly obeyed, and even though the channel at times seemed hopelessly blocked with brush and hanging vines, a lead of open water barely as wide as the boat stayed always ahead of them. The going was very slow, but after another hour they reached a small area of high ground. Thorn-ferns, weeping wydels, and towering kalas grew about its rocky perimeter. Tolivar pointed out a landing spot and Ralabun brought the boat in to shore.

      ‘This is it?’ he murmured in surprise. ‘I could have sworn we were lost.’

      The Prince leapt onto a bank covered with rain-beaten sawgrass and tied the bow-line to a snag. Then he took up the lantern, opened its shutter, and beckoned for the Nyssomu to accompany him along a nearly invisible path that twisted through outcropping rocks and dripping vegetation. They came to a clearing, where there was a small hut made of hewn poles and bundled grass, roofed with heavy fodderfern.

      ‘I built it,’ the Prince said with pride. ‘It’s where I come to study magic’

      Ralabun’s wide mouth dropped open in amazement, displaying stubby yellow fangs. ‘Magic? A lad such as you? By the Triune – you are well named Hiddenheart!’

      Tolivar unfastened the simple wicker door and gave an ironic bow. ‘Please enter my wizard’s workshop.’

      Inside it was completely dry. The Prince lit a three-candle reflector lamp standing on a makeshift table. The hut had few other furnishings aside from a stool, a carboy of drinking water, and a set of hanging shelves that held a few jars and firkins of preserved food. Certainly there were no instruments, books, or any of the other occult appurtenances one might expect in a sorcerer’s lair.

      Tolivar dropped to his knees, brushed aside the cut ferns and rushes that covered the dirt floor, and began to pry up a large, thin slab of stone. In the cavity beneath it lay two bags of coarse woollen cloth – one small and the other larger. Tolivar placed both on the table.

      ‘These are the precious things we have come for,’ he told Ralabun. ‘I did not think it wise to conceal them in the Citadel.’

      The old aborigine eyed the bags with growing misgiving. ‘And what happens to these things when you reside in Derorguila during winter?’

      ‘I have a safe hiding-place in the ruins just outside Zotopanion Palace where nobody goes. I found it four years ago, during the Battle of Derorguila, when I had the good fortune to acquire this great treasure.’ The boy opened the larger bag and slid out a slender, shallow box about the length of a man’s arm and three handspans wide. It was made of a dark glassy material, and upon its lid was embossed a silver many-rayed Star.

      Ralabun cried out: ‘Lords of the Air! It cannot be!’

      Saying nothing, Tolivar opened the smaller bag. Something flashed brilliantly silver in the lamplight – a curiously wrought coronet having six small cusps and three larger. It was ornamented with carved scrollwork, shells, and flowers, and beneath each of the three larger points was a grotesque face: one was a hideous Skritek, the second was a grimacing human, and the third was a fierce being with stylized starry locks of hair who seemed to howl in silent pain. Beneath the central visage was a tiny replica of Prince Tolivar’s royal coat-of-arms.

      ‘The Three-Headed Monster,’ Ralabun croaked, nearly beside himself with awe. ‘Queen Anigel’s magical talisman that she surrendered as ransom to the vile sorcerer Orogastus!’

      ‘It belongs neither to my mother nor to him now,’ Tolivar declared. He placed the coronet upon his own head and suddenly his slender body and plain small face seemed transfigured. ‘The talisman is bonded to me by the star-box, and anyone who touches it without my leave will be burnt to ashes. I have not yet fully mastered the Three-Headed Monster’s powers, but some day I shall. And when that time comes I will become a greater wizard than Orogastus ever was.’

      ‘Oh, Hiddenheart!’ Ralabun wailed.

      But before he could continue, the boy said, ‘Remember your oath, old friend.’ Then he removed the coronet from his head and replaced it and the star-box in their bags. ‘Now come along. Perhaps we can get home before it begins to rain again.’

       CHAPTER 2

      ‘Now!’ Kadiya cried out. ‘Take them!’

      The huge web woven of tanglefoot fell, the scores of ropes that had supported it cut at the same moment by the crew of Nyssomu high in the kala trees. It was deep night, but a searing bolt of lightning lit the moment of the net’s landing on the floor of the swamp forest and dimmed the orange-glowing eyes of the startled Skritek war-party.

      The ambush had been successful. More than forty of the monstrous Drowners, suddenly trapped in tough, gluey meshes, roared and shrieked amidst the rolling thunder. They tore ineffectually at the web with their tusks and claws, lashing their tails and wallowing on the muddy ground as they became hopelessly entangled. Musk from their scaled hides arose in a noxious cloud. It did not deter their captors from driving long barbed stakes into the soggy soil, securing the net’s edges. Those Nyssomu who were not engaged in the task capered about, popping their eyes out on stalks in mockery of their ancient foe, cheering and brandishing blow-pipes and spears.

      ‘Yield to me, Roragath!’ Kadiya demanded. ‘Your scheme of invasion and brigandage is finished. Now you must pay the penalty for violating the Truce of the Mazy Mire.’

      Never! the Skritek leader retorted in the speech without words. He was a gigantic creature, nearly twice her height, and still stood upright with the sticky meshes clinging to his body. The Truce no longer hinds us. And even if it did, we would never surrender to a puny human female. We will fight to the death rather than yield!

      ‘So you do not recognize me, treacherous Drowner,’ Kadiya murmured. She turned СКАЧАТЬ