The Enchantress of World's End
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Серия: Gondwane Epic #2
- Год: 101
- Язык: английский
- Год: DAW
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Enchantress of World's End». Краткое содержание книги:
Gondwane... When all the kingdoms of all the peoples of Earth had come and gone and new ones arose, it was on Gondwane they created their ephemeral glories.
On Gondwane, amid the turmoil of the last wars and the last quests and the last efforts of scientists and alchemists, there arose one final hero, the mighty Ganelon Silvermane.
The saga of Ganelon is the telling of master fantasist Lin Carter. And it is in the story of the Scarlet Enchantress that Ganelon first found the meaning of manhood.
They stared at the nicked and worn old blades that yet shone with the fierce, thirsty luster of sharp steel, and the names of forgotten heroes and dusty, ancient wars echoed once again in the hushed stillness. Mer-veilleuse the Wonderful was there, the sword of Doon de Mayence, Sanglamore and Fusberta, and the Green Sword that had been Amadis of Gaul’s. They passed on to where beneath a blue, faded banner stitched with thirteen crowns of tarnished gold, swords flashed and gleamed and glittered.
These are the swords of the mightiest of the heroes of Britain, whispered the Old Dragon. And there, higher than them all, hangs that most famous sword in the •world, deathless Excalibur, that was made in Avalon for the hand of Arthur the King. See, see, its shining splendors the long ages have not dimmed! There near it hangs his other sword as well, Clarent, Sword of Miracles … the Sword in the Stone! And there below are hung in shining ranks Aroundight, the sword of Lance” lot, and Morddure that wise Merlin made, forging its fierce steel in the fires of Mount Aetna, tempering it seven times in the bitter Styx … and many another famous sword of England hang nearby: great Ascalon, St. George of Merrie England’s sword, and bright Mor-glay that once Sir Bevis of Hampton bore; Corrouge, Sir Otuel’s fair blade, and many more.
The swords of the heroes of the North they looked upon: Skofmmg, that the sea god’s daughter got from the dwarves and gave to Hrolf Kraki, the King of the Danes, and Goldhilt, that was young Hjalti’s once; and Egil’s Drangvandil, that had been borne to wars aforetime by Skallagrim, and Lovi, the charmed longsword of Bjarki, and Laevatein, made with runes of power. Tyrfing, the invincible sword of the Visigoths, that was forged for the hero Angantyr, and Aettartangi, the famous sword of Grettir the Strong; Gram and Nothung, aye, and Rithil; Regjn made it and it cut out Fafnir’s heart.
One wall blazed with intolerable brightness, dazzling as the noon sun, and the swords thereon were huger than mortal men might ever bear. Shielding his eyes against the furious light that shone therefrom, Ganelon asked their host of these.
These are the swords that were borne once by the very gods themselves . . . that mighty brand with edges jagged as a thunderbolt is Chrysaor the Terrible, which Zeus wielded in his war against the Titans … and there is Fragarach the Answerer, the sword that Lugh the Sun god bore back from the Land of the Living … and the swords called Great Fury and Little Fury, that were Manannan mac Lir’s . . . and Bal-mung, which Odin gave to Sigurd the Volsung; and Odin’s own grim brand, Brimir, that the giants made … and Prey’s sword, Hundinsbana, Hofud, the god Heimdall’s sword … and beyond them, the awful and wonderful Asidevata that was first borne by Shiva, then by Vishnu, and then by Indra … and Orna, sword of Tethra, that the god Ogma took in battle … They saw rare and fabulous swords: Philippan, the sword of Marc Anthony, Nagelring, the sword Dietrich of Berne got from the dwarf Alpris, Zulfiqar, the sword called Cleaver of Vertebrae which the angel Gabriel gave to Mohammed the Prophet; Dhami the Trenchant, the sword of Antar, hero of India, and Miming, made by Wayland Smith, the greatest of all makers-of swords. Most were of clean bright steel, but not alclass="underline" the famous Sword of Sharpness wherewith Sir Jack slew the giants Cormoran, Galligantus and Blunderbore had for its blade a razory-thin shaft of pure diamond, pale as ice; and the sword of Amadis, which they had already seen, was green as emerald; and Crocea Mors, which Julius Caesar used against Cassibelaunus when he invaded Britain, was as yellow as saffron. Strangest of all, it may be, was Hrunting, the sword of Unferth: the blade thereof was brass, dyed with drops of poison and tempered in blood; with it, in later years, Beowulf the Great slew the Ogress.
They came to one wide wall at the end of the tremendous hall. These are the swords renowned in tale and story, said Dzimdazoul. Their names can mean little or naught to you . . . but here are hung forever immortal Anduril and Sacnoth, Randir and Rhindon, Glamdring and Llyr, and the Sword of Welleran … Graywand and Cat’s Claw, Orcrist, Broadcleaver that was Osbert’s sword, black, murderous Dyrnwyn, and the twin swords, Stormbringer and Mournblade … Frostfiret Shadowmaker, Caliburn, and Sting.
He blinked fondly at Ganelon, who stood staring at the brilliant glitter of enchanted steel. With a nod of his massive head, the old dragon indicated one array of gleaming blades.
Here I shall someday hang your own sword, the Silver Sword, he said, great eyes twinkling. Here with Azlon, Zingazar, and Sarkozan.
As in a dream, they passed slowly out of that mighty, shadow-thronged hall, into the sun. Behind them, the famous swords, the enchanted swords, slept on through eternity to dream of old, fabulous wars, and the hands that held them once, long ago.
21. DRAGON’S DEEP
Time passed them by in the Halfworld with an air of dreamlike unreality; never afterwards were they able to figure out precisely how long they were the guests of Dzimdazoul.* I find it difficult to make any sense out of this, myself: Dzimdazoul had told them that here in the Halfworld, which lies outside of the world, they were beyond the reach of Tune and Change. Anyway, although there were dawns and daylight, noons and nightfalls, there was no sense of time elapsing at all … nothing but a dreamlike, everlasting Now.
* Later on, when he had a chance to compare adventures with the old magician, Ganelon became even more confused than before on this question of how much time had elapsed. It seemed to him that at least ten to twelve days had transpired between the time he flew out of Chx, and the time he left Faerie. But according to the Illusionist, only a day and a half had passed. Ganelon was never able,to resolve this curious discrepancy in later years, but the Commentators on this second book of the Epic agreed by consensus that the hyperspatial tube probably collapsed time, as it did space. Maybe so, but the time equivalencies still do not balance out, even if Ganelon and his friends spent only a second or two in the Halfworld of Faerie. I think myself that, by going backwards in the labyrinth, instead of continuing forward, they actually came out several days before they had gone in.
They roamed, wandered and explored. Grrff liked the forests best, remembering the jungles of his homeland. The woods were rilled with curious creatures, most of whom could talk and think was well as many men, if not better. He would come back from one of these rambles full of excited stories about unicorns, centaurs, dryads and gnomes, and elves. There were many elves in the woodlands; they were, of course, the virtual rulers of Faerie, although many old, retired gods lived here as well. Dzimdazoul patiently explained that it was into the Halfworld that most of the prehuman denizens of the Old Earth had strayed or fled or wandered eons ago, at the end of the Silver Age.