Crystal Gorge. David Eddings

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      Red-Beard followed his friend out onto the deck of the Seagull, and then the two of them carried Longbow’s canoe up out of the forward hold and lowered it over the side.

      It felt good to be in a canoe again, and Longbow’s canoe was one of the smoothest Red-Beard had ever sat in. He rather ruefully conceded that no matter what Longbow did, he was always the best. Some people might have found that irritating, but it didn’t particularly bother Red-Beard. Longbow was his friend, and he almost never tried to compete with him.

      It was a balmy autumn day, the waves were gentle, and Longbow’s canoe seemed almost to skim across the surface toward the pebbly beach.

      Red-Beard noticed that the men of the tribe seemed to avoid Longbow, which wasn’t really all that unusual. He’d noticed in the past that most people tried to avoid Longbow. ‘It’s probably that grim expression of his,’ Red-Beard said to himself. ‘I’m sure he’d be more popular if he’d just learn how to smile now and then.’

      Chief Old-Bear’s lodge stood alone on a small hillock that looked down over the beach. Red-Beard thought that was very unusual. Most tribe-chiefs set up shop right in the center of the village, but Old-Bear seemed to want to be separate – and alone.

      He greeted Longbow rather formally, it seemed to Red-Beard, but different tribes have different customs.

      ‘How did things go in the Domain of Zelana’s brother, my son?’ Old-Bear asked.

      Longbow shrugged. ‘It was a bit more complicated there than it was here, my Chief,’ he said, ‘but things turned out quite well. It seems that we have a friend who can do things that Zelana’s family can’t, and she does them without the help of the Dreamers.’

      ‘The old myths are true, then,’ the chief observed.

      ‘So it would seem, and she was using me as her spokesman. That got to be just a bit tiresome after a while, and it took me a while to catch up on my sleep.’

      Old-Bear looked a bit startled. ‘I must have misunderstood the myth. I’d always assumed that she’d use one of the Dreamer-children to pass her commands on to the outlanders. What did she want you to tell our friends?’

      ‘Her speech in my dreams was just a bit formal, my Chief, but it more or less boiled down to “get out of the way”. She knew what she was doing, and she didn’t want us to interfere. We had two separate enemies, and they were very busy killing each other – right up until she destroyed them both.’

      ‘Fire or water?’

      ‘She used water this time – a lot of water. The creatures of the Wasteland won’t be going south any more, because there’s a large inland sea between them and Veltan’s Domain.’

      Chief Old-Bear laughed. ‘I imagine that might have upset the Vlagh just a bit.’

      ‘More than a bit, my chief,’ Longbow replied. ‘We could hear her screaming from miles away.’

      ‘Is there something happening that I should know about?’ Red-Beard asked curiously.

      ‘It’s a very old story that’s been handed down in our tribe for years and years,’ Longbow explained. ‘It has to do with a crisis that lies off in the future and what we’ll have to do to meet that crisis. There are some references to strangers in the myth – probably Sorgan and Narasan – and to some elemental forces – fire, water, wind – that sort of thing. The story’s possibly been garbled just a bit over the years, but down at the bottom, it seems to be very close to what we’ve encountered so far.’

      ‘Are there any hints about what we ought to be looking for up in the north or off to the east?’

      ‘Nothing very specific,’ Longbow replied. ‘Visions of one kind or another tend to get just a bit garbled as time goes by.’

      ‘Do you think the outlanders will need our help if the creatures of the Wasteland attack the Domain of Zelana’s older brother, my son?’ Old-Bear asked.

      ‘Probably not, my chief,’ Longbow replied. ‘The Tonthakans are fairly good archers, and if the Maag smiths cast bronze arrowheads for them, they should be able to do what needs to be done. If things start getting out of hand, though, I’ll send word to you.’ He paused. ‘How is One-Who-Heals getting along?’ he asked.

      ‘Not too good, my son,’ Old-Bear replied. ‘It would seem that age is one of the diseases that he can’t heal.’

      ‘That’s too bad,’ Longbow said. ‘He is – or was – a very good teacher.’ Then he looked at Red-Beard. ‘I’ll be back in just a little while and then we can paddle on back to the Seagull and join our friends.’ Then he left Chief Old-Bear’s lodge.

      ‘Where’s he going?’ Red-Beard asked Longbow’s chief.

      ‘To visit Misty-Water, probably,’ Old Bear replied.

      ‘Oh,’ Red-Beard said. ‘I don’t think he’s ever mentioned her to me – or anybody else – but some of the men in your tribe spoke of her on occasion. People who don’t know about her don’t understand Longbow, and he frightens them. Of course, sometimes he even frightens me.’

      ‘He was not always like he is now, Red-Beard,’ Old-Bear said. ‘The time will come, I think, when he’ll draw his bow with the Vlagh for his target.’

      ‘I hope he doesn’t miss when that day comes.’

      ‘I wouldn’t worry, Red-Beard,’ Old-Bear replied. ‘Longbow never misses when he draws his bow.’

      ‘I’ve noticed that.’

      ‘I’m sure you have. Everybody who’s ever met him notices that.’

       CASTANO

       1

      The meadowlands of the clan of Ekial of Malavi lay near the north coast, and that gave the clan a certain advantage over the clans that lay farther to the south. The cattle-buyers from the Trogite Empire did business in the coastal towns surrounded by extensive cattle-pens and with loading piers jutting out into the sea, and that made things very convenient for the northern clans, since there were no long cattle-drives involved when the time came to sell cows.

      The village of the clan was a pleasant place near the southern edge of the clan territory where a sparkling brook came tumbling down out of the hills which lay to the south. The meadows surrounding the village were lush and green, so the cattle had little reason to wander off.

      The pavilions in the village were made of leather, of course, and there was a certain advantage to that. The Trogite cattle-buyers in the coastal towns lived in houses made of wood, and once those houses had been built, they stayed where they were. Leather pavilions, however, can be moved without much difficulty СКАЧАТЬ