Wrath of a Mad God. Raymond Feist
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Название: Wrath of a Mad God
Автор: Raymond Feist
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические приключения
Серия: Darkwar
isbn: 9780007347506
isbn:
Kaspar’s men sat on the ground, many near exhaustion. Several were now unconscious, wounded men who had succumbed to the demands of the retreat. Kaspar forced himself to remain on his feet, but even the resourceful Jim Dasher gave in to the need to sit down. Jommy and Servan looked at Kaspar expectantly, waiting for their general to tell them what was next.
As the elf leader came towards them, Kaspar said, ‘Well, then, we are here. We are your prisoners. What is to be done with us?’
‘You will see our leader.’
‘When?’
‘Now,’ he said, motioning for Kaspar to follow. ‘The others wait here.’
As Kaspar fell in behind the elf, ‘What am I to call you?’
The elf glanced over his shoulder. ‘Is that important?’
‘Only if I live and have reason to address you.’
The elf smiled slightly. ‘I am called Hengail.’
‘Why were there no archers on the wall to cover our retreat?’
Hengail hesitated, then said, ‘All our archers were with us. Only children and women were within the compound.’
As they climbed a path to a large building which dominated the community, Kaspar quickly took in his surroundings. The buildings were astonishing. There were swooping lines of wood beams supporting arching roofs, rather than the straight timbers he would have expected. Wood faces to buildings had been glazed and polished until the evening’s torchlight was reflected from every flat surface as if they were mirrors. Under the glimmering reflections, Kaspar could see that the wood had been allowed to age to deep hues of many colours, mostly deep reds and browns, but with unexpected shades of grey and even a hint of blue here and there. There were more than a dozen buildings scattered around this very large plateau, but most of them appeared empty. The doorways were all open. He glanced upwards at one arching high above his head as he passed into the largest building.
The floors were also of highly polished wood, lovingly cared for from their appearance. The walls were as they were outside, magnificent in their simplicity, yet elegant as well. The building appeared to be laid out in a large cross, with a huge fire-pit of stone dominating the centre. High above, a large hole in the roof permitted smoke to exit, while a sheltering roof above it, supported by large beams at the corner, protected the hole from all but the most violent rainstorms.
Before the fire-pit sat three elves, one obviously of great age, for among the ever-seeming youth of the others, this one bore the ravages of many years: deep lines etching his face, hair white as snow, and a stoop-shouldered posture. Yet his eyes were bright and regarded Kaspar with suspicion.
Slowly he stood up. ‘Who are you to come to the land of the Quor?’
‘Kaspar, formerly Duke of Olasko, now in the service of the kings of Roldem and the Isles, and the Emperor of Great Kesh.’
The old elf was silent for a long moment, then he chuckled. ‘Something dire must be afoot for those three vain princes to be in harmony.’ He studied Kaspar, then said, ‘Tell me why three mighty rulers of the human lands send soldiers to the Peaks of the Quor, and tell me true, for your lives depend on what you say.’
Kaspar looked around the room. Two other elderly elves sat nearby, watching intently, and the elf named Hengail stood silently at their right hand. Two other guards stood by the door, but otherwise the large cross-shaped hall was empty. ‘What do I call you?’
‘I am called Castdanur. In your tongue it means ‘caretaker against the darkness’. I had a young name, once, but that was so long ago I fear I do not remember it.’
Kaspar took a moment to reply, ‘Perhaps we may be of some help to you. It wouldn’t do to kill out of hand those who would be your friends.’ He looked the old elf directly in the eyes. ‘You do appear to need friends.’
Castdanur smiled. ‘Now, why do you suggest we are in need of friends?’
Kaspar said, ‘Only a blind man or a fool can’t see that this once was home to hundreds, and now there is only a handful. You need help. You are a dying people.’
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