Perumov prophecies of destruction. Prologue Wings blacker than the sky

Nick Perumov

Hunters

Prophecies of Destruction

Wings blacker than the sky

(One hundred thirty-five years before the events of the book)

The night turned out to be damp and hazy, long gray tongues of fog crawled from deep ravines to the village, and it seemed that the unknown creatures hiding in them were about to lick off the miserable huts covered with rotten straw.

And now a chain of torches stretched more often from these huts to the woven gray curtain. Away from the outskirts, barns and rigs, from pastures - to a hill at the very edge of the forest, where, barely visible in the darkness, rose seven stone pillars-monoliths, set here in times so ancient that even scholars-scribes, if they happen here and hear the question of the age of the temple, they would only shrug.

However, it was to this hill that the procession was heading.

And it was surprisingly numerous for this time of day.

Places here, on the border of the Wastewood, have never been distinguished by peace and tranquility. Robbery gangs rummaged around, monsters wandered through the thickets, who do not care whether to devour the cattle or its owners. And so that the claps themselves climbed somewhere into the darkness at night? What happened to them, why all of a sudden such fearlessness?

In front of all six hefty men in homespun trousers and shirts, sniffing busily, dragged on their shoulders something wrapped in gray linen, tied over anything that came to hand - belts, ropes, even a fishing net - and desperately kicking.

- Hush, witch! - One of the draggers stuck his pood fist where he had to. From the cocoon there was a scream and immediately - a furious hiss.

“Nothing, Radovan,” boomed another porter. - Little one at all. And there, to the pillar, and ... a little heel smokes, he immediately learns how to conjure!

- I did not conjure! came from the depths of the bundle. - Uncle Mikhas! Well uncle Mikhas! You know me!

“Me too, my nephew turned up,” the broad-shouldered peasant, who spoke to Radovan, hurriedly began to frequent. - You don’t go into my family, you witch’s offspring! .. You ruined the cow, the cursed witch! She took out a pregnant pig!

- Minka small betrayed a fierce death ... - another one entered.

- Drag, drag, there is nothing to base here. When we put it on the fire, then we will begin to list her guilt to the witch.

- Exactly! – someone tall and skinny, in a long brown robe, either a local priest or an itinerant preacher, entered the conversation. “Let us credit the witch for her crimes!” Let him repent in the fiery font, on the edge of death! Let…

“Forgive me, Reverend,” Radovan interrupted the priest. We have arrived, however.

- Hm. That's right, yes, come, son. A good place, pure, prayed. You kept your idols in order, well done, my children, I praise. There are few places where the Ancient Gods are now properly worshiped, as you are - that's why they all have disasters, apostates! And the witch - let's get her here, to the brushwood! Yes, tie it to a pole, by the elbows, like this!

The monoliths adorned narrow-eyed faces roughly carved right on the stone. All with gaping mouths full of huge teeth. The appearance of these entities was in no way conducive to worship.

In the very middle of this circle stood a pillar, unlike the others - smooth and not gray, but some kind of smoky one. At its foot was a huge heap of firewood, surrounded on all sides by bundles of brushwood.

It was to this post that six porters began to fasten their wheezing, hissing load like a wild cat.

- Hurry, kid! For witches burn well precisely at night, driving away evil spirits and all harmful creatures!

Meanwhile, the rest of the procession with torches pulled up to the Seven Stones - men and women, old men and old women, probably the entire population of the village.

- Then take the bag off her! Now listen, witch, to the list of your villains! – raising his voice, with unexpected shrill notes announced the priest. “For you are a vessel of alien abominations, a vessel of me...

He wanted to say something else, but at that moment something rustled over the heads of the crowd. From above, an invisible ice wave, the cold breath of winter, seemed to have collapsed.

- A-a-a-a! Flying, flying! squealed a young woman.

- Who is flying? Where is it flying? the priest jumped up. He stumbled out of the blue, waved his arms absurdly and released the torch.

The fire flowed through the brushwood, crackled merrily, rushing up to the girl huddled in the bonds.

A sharp whistle of wings. The icy wind became cutting, people backed away - and right on a pile of brushwood flaming on one side, a tall dark figure appeared, wrapped in a cloak, so reminiscent of wings. bat.

"What's the matter, my good plowmen?" Mes bons agriculteurs? Ce qui se passe ici? What's going on here? - asked the arrival. Pale face and dazzling white teeth, whiter than snow. - Who are you going to burn here at night looking? Wait, wait, let me guess - la sorcière? Witch? Which, of course, spoiled crops with its witchcraft, caused the loss of livestock, miscarriages in pregnant women, maybe even the death of perfectly healthy children at first glance?

Either he threw something into the fire, or he really possessed some kind of power, but the flame soared, roared, brushwood and firewood flared up instantly.

The bound girl screamed as she sat down wildly.

The creature next to her grinned viciously, hissed.

A wave of a dark cloak - and the belts burst, the condemned witch fell like a bag into the arms of her savior.

With one jump, he jumped off a pile of flaming firewood, his clothes smoldering in many places were smoking, long pointed fangs were clearly visible in the dark cut of his mouth.

- Womper! yelled one of the more courageous men.

Perhaps the villagers should have fled in horror at the sight of such fear; but at that time a strong and stocky people lived in the Hollow Forest, although they were poor and oppressed by labors. Many came to the judgment seat not only with torches, but also with axes, and with pointed stakes, and with pitchforks, and with flails, and with all sorts of similar weapons, at which only one who has never had to be under his blows can laugh.

Despite the squeals and screams, in a single moment a solid wall rose in front of the vampire and the half-unfeeling victim hanging on him - a dracolier, pitchforks, scythes, animal spears-spears. The men backed away, but did not run.

Nick Perumov

Hunters

Prophecies of Destruction

Wings blacker than the sky

(One hundred thirty-five years before the events of the book)

However, it was to this hill that the procession was heading.

And it was surprisingly numerous for this time of day.

- Hush, witch! - One of the draggers stuck his pood fist where he had to. From the cocoon there was a scream and immediately - a furious hiss.

“Nothing, Radovan,” boomed another porter. - Little one at all. And there, to the pillar, and ... a little heel smokes, he immediately learns how to conjure!

- I did not conjure! came from the depths of the bundle. - Uncle Mikhas! Well uncle Mikhas! You know me!

- Minka small betrayed a fierce death ... - another one entered.

- Drag, drag, there is nothing to base here. When we put it on the fire, then we will begin to list her guilt to the witch.

“Forgive me, Reverend,” Radovan interrupted the priest. We have arrived, however.

- Hm. That's right, yes, come, son. Nice place, clean and tidy. You kept your idols in order, well done, my children, I praise. There are few places where the Ancient Gods are now properly worshiped, as you are - that's why they all have disasters, apostates! And the witch - let's get her here, to the brushwood! Yes, tie it to a pole, by the elbows, like this!

The monoliths adorned narrow-eyed faces roughly carved right on the stone. All with gaping mouths full of huge teeth. The appearance of these entities was in no way conducive to worship.

It was to this post that six porters began to fasten their wheezing, hissing load like a wild cat.

- Hurry, kid! For witches burn well precisely at night, driving away evil spirits and all harmful creatures!

Meanwhile, the rest of the procession with torches pulled up to the Seven Stones - men and women, old men and old women, probably the entire population of the village.

He wanted to say something else, but at that moment something rustled over the heads of the crowd. From above, an invisible ice wave, the cold breath of winter, seemed to have collapsed.

- A-a-a-a! Flying, flying! squealed a young woman.

- Who is flying? Where is it flying? the priest jumped up. He stumbled out of the blue, waved his arms absurdly and released the torch.

The fire flowed through the brushwood, crackled merrily, rushing up to the girl huddled in the bonds.

Either he threw something into the fire, or he really possessed some kind of power, but the flame soared, roared, brushwood and firewood flared up instantly.

The bound girl screamed as she sat down wildly.

The creature next to her grinned viciously, hissed.

A wave of a dark cloak - and the belts burst, the condemned witch fell like a bag into the arms of her savior.

With one jump, he jumped off a pile of flaming firewood, his clothes smoldering in many places were smoking, long pointed fangs were clearly visible in the dark cut of his mouth.

- Womper! yelled one of the more courageous men.

- Friendly, everyone! - the same uncle Mikhas barked. - From all sides of the womper press!

The vampire looked around quickly, so quickly that hardly anyone could see his movement. For some reason, he could not throw himself back into the bat, and stood there, supporting the barely alive witch girl with one hand. He hissed again, snorted with an angry cat, put right hand, on which impressive claws suddenly flashed.

However, the gloomy, resolute, not very afraid of the "womper" men pressed forward, and the points of their stakes with pitchforks swayed menacingly already in some six or seven feet.

The vampire took off, criss-crossing with his free right hand. The claws cut into a thick stake, went through it, leaving an even cut, but their sharpness played a cruel joke on the vampire - he didn’t knock the peasant’s weapon aside, he didn’t even make it more blunt, just the opposite.

The stake struck him in the shoulder, knocking him back, and the vampire had to dodge with his whole body, slipping under the pitchfork that was thrust into his back. The crowd almost closed over him; claws flashed again, someone who was too close shouted, and at that moment a weighty flail descended on the ghoul's head with all his might.

Dark blood poured out in a stream, but the vampire seemed to be just waiting for this. The right hand grabbed the flail, jerked the impudent fighter towards himself, and with great force he flew forward with his chest straight into the tips of the pitchforks and spears. The vampire followed.

The instant confusion of the men cost them two more - the claws opened the neck of one, demolished half of the face of the other. Throwing away the third, pushing the fourth, the vampire cleared his way and, throwing the witch over his shoulder, rushed away in leaps, towards the dark, misty forest.

Behind him, the wounded screamed terribly, the crowd howled. A thrown spear whistled, stabbed into her back, - as soon as the girl was not hurt - the ghoul growled, grunted in pain, twitched, bringing his shoulder blades almost together. The shaft fell out, blood splashed out from the wound in a wave, dark, smoking, like earthen oil.

He crashed into the thicket, and there he was no longer pursued.

* * *

- Thank you! - The girl was good. As expected, a redhead with green eyes - such people in the villages are always suspected of witchcraft, especially jealous wives, noticing the glances of their men, fixed on the "shameless redhead".

Friday evening.

Hurray, finally fresh from master Perumov! Sounds like magic: "Tales of the Orderly", "Hunters", "Prophecies of Destruction". Not a title - a song! You can take a break from the main series that has died on its laurels, treat yourself to a fantasy action movie. New characters, a plot completed in two or three books, a peppy plot - what else is needed for happiness? Hurry home, hurry to bed, wife bye-bye, and read yourself!

Night from Friday to Saturday.

Te-ex, what do we have in the annotation here? Mages are not fools to fight. Thank you Hansi Fess! Are they chasing vampires? There is a reason. And they, poor things, want to be friends? Nothing, we'll survive! This glamorous undead even got to Hedin the Merciful in the end. Goat-legs climb with their prophecies? That's the interest! Take your seats in the box, now someone will get horns and an impudent muzzle!

After an hour.

Dear mother, where have I got?.. A cat on my collar...

Saturday, six o'clock in the morning, in the kitchen with his godlessly awakened wife.

You see, I bought Perumov's book. Well, I told you: Ni-i-ik, Pe-ru-mov! Elves, dragons, rings, hobbits! True magicians, ancient gods, new gods, next gods who were magicians! Do you remember? Shake one world, shake a bunch of worlds, then the Savior came. What is the Savior? Yes, like Christ, only with an arrow instead of a cross. Where is Christ here? Uh-uh, it doesn't matter, I'm not talking about this, I'm talking about something else! I bought Perumov, but got into Twilight! From the very beginning! Understand, in "Twilight"! Got in! And then Geralt and Yennefer had a showdown! Half a book! Yes, they fought too. You tell me why I need to know how many times and with whom this hardened ... Everything, everything, I don’t express myself! There is no other way to say it! How many times, with whom and how exactly did this ambitious graduate student sleep for the sake of a diploma, another scientific title, promotion, every artifact! Finally, in order to “protect” your “ungrateful” and obsolete lover?! Why do I need her nymphomaniac best friend?! Me?.. Nymphomaniac?!. Ahem, I miss you, it's me, figuratively... It's all in the book! Why am I reading this? Don't know. This is Perumov!

I wanted the battle magicians to save the world... Yes, like in Sailor Moon, only cooler, don't interrupt! And then a living vampire is opened half of the chapter! With the naming of all supra- and submandibular glands and their secretions in Latin! Pus is released into the basin! “Arterium Animalis” is caught with tweezers in a section, and they only hiss in response! And then this fat vivisector goes to drink beer, eat sausage and pick up prostitutes! Why prostitutes? Because the eldest daughter of the innkeeper, a rare craftswoman, got married and left, and the youngest had not yet grown enough. Yes, the innkeeper himself told him. Yes, he knew about the daughter. Yes, the vivisector is as fat as a flying Harkonnen, but he can still be satisfied orally! Yes, that's exactly what it says! No, I'm not imagining anything! Here, look for yourself! Why did I read this? I don't know, it's Perumov...

Here, even vampire hunters are not hunters, but trappers! Who are trappers? These are cowardly traps! No sword in hand and "chest to chest"! Some chess! Yes, with a marching description of the entire party! Yes, it is described in detail how they pull each rope and cock each spring. Yes, vampires have been patiently standing on the sidelines all this time, waiting and not noticing anything... And then tolerance began in general! What is tolerance? It's tolerance for... No, I'm not expressing myself! This is a normal male word! Okay, I won't be home.

You understand, I took the book! A book, a whole work, not a collection of stories! Well, yes, “novel” is written here, but in fact these are three or four stories specially trained monkeys cut with scissors and glued together at random! Why a duplex? They can release a third, and a fourth. Ah, why not one volume? I don’t know if all this is superfluous ... Everything, everything, I don’t swear! If all this water is drained, then two hundred pages will not be typed. No they are not parallel. storylines! There isn't even a plot! No, it wasn't the same before! No, I'm not excited! What is it, the neighbors are already knocking on the door? Okay, I'll go, I'm sorry. Take out the trash at the same time? I seem to have taken it out in the evening. Ah, you're talking about a book... I paid the money... I gave five hundred rubles... You say health is more expensive? Um. Maybe give it to the library? What? Do not spoil the children's psyche? Indeed, it is not necessary. Okay, I persuaded, I'll throw it out.

Score: 4

Let me start with a little digression. I somehow decided, under the yoke of you-know-how-how-long saga, which I have been fighting for almost a quarter of a century, to deceive fate (Ordered, myself, the plot - underline as necessary) and skip Asgard-2, for which I took it three times and three times not moved beyond the sullen flipping of three dozen pages. In order to immediately read "Hedin ...". The effect is the same. Null. After that, resigned, he concluded: goodbye, or at least goodbye and goodbye for a long time, "Worlds of the Ordered." But there were “Elven Blade” and “Black Spear”, there were “Chronicles of Hjervad” and “Swords…”…

But, less than a year later, I came across a new volume of Perumov, which, as it turned out, is included in the cycle with the playful title "Tales of the Orderly". (As it turned out a little later, it is precisely in the megacycle "Worlds of the Ordered" that di (three, tetra?) Logia enters). Took a risk.

And, you know, did not lose.

To complete the picture and sensations, I would like to say: the good old Perumov has returned. But no. Still, everything flows, everything changes. In all respects, "Tales ..." is much closer to the adventures of a magician than to what Perumov started with. How good they are, it's too early to say. Although the beginning is encouraging.

I'll start with the fact that the whole action, as valmark82 already noted, is the essence of the usual for the last fifteen years of the Ordered "toffee". But unlike the wanderings of Fess and GB-2, this "toffee", despite the volume (above average for the modern domestic SF&F), was swallowed by me, as they say. There was never a desire to postpone and switch to something else. Even the first two-thirds of the volume, which confidently created the impression of a very long prologue, did not evoke negative emotions. What am I talking about? Well, about the fact that if the PROLOGUE is like this, then when (in how many volumes) will the author complete his opus?

Good characters. Moderately contradictory, moderately stubborn, each with its own secret.

Harmonious and systemic (for Perumov, anyway))) causes, effects, phenomena and interpretations. True, once such cavalry appeared, mmm ... like from the MLRS "Grad" in the phalanx of hoplites. It is clear that some kind of howitzer is hanging on this crowbar, driven into a reinforced concrete wall, necessary for arranging some of the dots above the “i” ... but still - not comme il faut.

Almost completely absent verbiage.

In general, wiping away a stingy male tear, and hoping that Nick will still fit into the format of the dilogy set by him, I give a point. Seven.

Score: 7

For three. From the pros:

This is still the same Perumov, that is, he knows how to write a normal text, which, in principle, can be read without harm to health.

And here I don't even know what to write. I try to remember at least something that has sunk into my soul, and somehow nothing is remembered. So I'm moving on to the cons.

+ (remembered a plus) The book is quite short, due to which it does not seem to be drawn out.

Okay, maybe one more. The physiology and abilities of vampires are described in a rather unusual way. This is almost the only aspect that is spelled out well, all the details are carefully coordinated, the idea looks convincing and in general it is felt that the author tried at least here.

Of the minuses:

The characters are clearly unloved children of the author, the characters are revealed this way and that, some of the main characters by the end of the book have not even acquired names (!). There it is explained for security reasons, but for some reason other characters of a similar occupation have at least nicknames and fictitious names, but not the main characters!

Dialogues are cardboard. The dialogues of the magician and his ex-lover, but more than them are the dialogues of the hunter and his student, and in fact the latter sometimes consists entirely of a whole chapter! There are many, many dialogues. God bless him, I'm all for it, but the characters, although they constantly communicate, in the end manage to tell insultingly little about the world around them. The hunter and his apprentice in their conversations more or less tell something - but only about vampires. Moreover, since the reader does not receive any other source of knowledge on this matter for a very long time, and he does not even see the vampires out of the corner of his eye, there is a very distinct feeling that one point of view is simply being imposed on you, and everything looks very flat and unconvincing. For example, let me recall, say, the world of the Witcher and the problems of non-humans in this world. There Geralt counts one thing; Buttercup says otherwise; Zoltan is something third; we meet different non-humans, bad, good, normal, with different motives; often one character's opinion on a topic changes over the course of the story. As a result, there is a feeling that this is a real problem, that it is complex, that there is no simple solution, in short, as in life. And it's not even central theme books, and so, decoration. In "Hunters" vampires seem to be the main stated theme. And it is very upsetting that it is filed so flatly.

In the middle of the book, the reader is still not aware of what the world in which he finds himself is like. Like the Middle Ages, it seems that some of the main characters live in a conditionally Slavic medieval principality, as indicated by the names and some names, but at the same time, the existence of alchemists falls out of this. Alchemy is more associated with Western medieval surroundings. Or at least Arabic. Riding lizards seem to have jumped straight from Morrowind and do not add zest or exoticism, but rather simply completely confuse. Another hero lives in the north, but even less is known about this country, and there are those fucking lizards again. In addition to humans, there are also all sorts of familiar races, such as gnomes and halflings, but this does not add much to the story.

I want a little, I think, I just want the world to be a little convincing. It helps a lot when there is a certain cultural layer, on the basis of which different countries. If some specific era is not taken as a basis, but something unusual and surreal is synthesized (imagine that you wrote books on Morrowind), it can also be good. And here there is a feeling that they didn’t even bother, it’s not clear how this world differs from the same Evial, except that Evial was written much better.

A vampire speaking French right in the prologue is just a brain shot. Oh yes. There is not one prologue, there are three. And then the first chapter begins.

Scarlet Lady - another shot to the brain.

The way vampires behave when we first encounter them in the story is another brain shot if you survived the first two. They act like idiot characters from Naruto or something. You read and wonder if they are all like that, why the hunters have not shot them for a long time.

The ending is vague, it doesn't feel like the end of the book. I understand this is an open ending, access to the second part. BUT. Still, I want the tension to somehow build up over the course of the book, or something. And here somehow there is no feeling of a climax, a breakthrough, a feeling that the games are over, that something like this is about to begin ... When I saw on e-book that I have 97% read, I was amazed. It didn't feel like I was finishing the story. What's more, with several storylines that didn't fit together at the end, it feels like at least a piece of the puzzle should have been put together, but too many pieces are missing to put it together. Because of this, instead of the excitement associated with the fact that right now, literally, in the second book, something incredible will happen, frustration sets in. Actually, this is the feeling that I have left from the whole book.

Maybe Perumov fans will find something for themselves here. I do not pretend to be objective in any way and I will only be glad if others like the book. But I myself, apparently, will not buy new books by Perumov.

My rating is 3, only because I recently read books much worse.

Score: 3

Well, the truth is similar in style to Perumov's earlier and familiar books. More dynamics, a lot of magic, a few actors, references to other books (like Goats and Clara Hummel).

In what the author is really true to himself - he again managed to create characters that evoke an emotional response. Both positive and negative. Especially negative. It's about the sorceress Alysanna - that's really a crazy character. Moreover, I am almost sure that the author does this against his will, that he does not expect anything of the kind. In the case of Alysanna - the maximum reference to the Witcher and the sorceresses operating in that story. Yes, and that's not a fact.

And, of course, there is some mysterious yet danger that threatens the whole world. And the world and its inhabitants have enough other problems.

Although there are signs of more later problems author's style in the form of verbose dialogues about the same thing. Luckily, they are mostly run by only two characters.

I will not say anything about the cruelty and denseness of the common people; the author also had this topic more than once. Well, although the rest of society has enough unpleasant features.

It's too early to sum up the story, the story ends in the middle. I hope that the author will not merge the ending, which, alas, would also be within the framework of tradition.

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Prologue I
Wings blacker than the sky

(One hundred thirty-five years before the events of the book)