"Raymond E. Feist - Serpentwar 1 - Shadow of a Dark Queen2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, large arms and legs
well fashioned - but his back bore huge wings that
seemed composed of tattered black leather, and his
head ... A triangular skull, much like that of a horse,
was covered by thin skin, as if leather had been stretched
across bone. Teeth were exposed, fangs close together,
and the eyes were pits of red fire. Around his' head
danced a ring of flames, and his laughter turned Jarwa's
blood to ice.
The demon pushed past his lesser brethren, ignoring
those who rushed forward to defend the Sha-shahan. He
struck out, ripping flesh apart as easily as a Saaur tore
bread. Jarwa stood ready, knowing each moment stolen
before his death allowed more of his children to flee
through the rift.
Then the demon reared over Jarwa as a warrior stands
over a child. The Sha-shahan struck out with as much
strength as he could muster, raking his son's sword across
the creature's outstretched arm. The demon shrieked at
the pain, but then ignored the wound, slowing for a
second while black talons the size of daggers skewered
Jarwa, punching through armor and body, as he gripped
him around the middle.
The demon raised the ruler of the Saaur up toward his
face and held him at eye level. As the light in Jarwa's
eyes began to fade, the demon laughed and said, 'You are
the ruler of nothing, foolish mortal. Your soul is mine,
little creature of flesh! And after I eat you, still shall you
linger, to amuse me between feedings!'
For the first time since birth, Jarwa, Sha-shahan of
the Seven Nations, Ruler of the Empire of Grass, Lord
of the Nine Oceans, knew terror. And as his mind cried
out, his body went limp. From a vantage above his own
flesh, he felt his spirit rise, to fly to the Heavenly Horde,
yet something bound him and he could not leave. He
perceived his own body, being devoured by this demon,
and in his spirit's mind he heard the demon say, 'I am
Tugor, First Servant of Great Maarg, Ruler of the Fifth
Circle, and you are my plaything.'
Jarwa cried, but he had no voice, and he struggled,
though he had no body, and his spirit was held by mystic


chains as binding as iron on flesh. Wailing spirit voices
told hhnhim his companions were also falling. With what
will remained he turned his perceptions toward the distant
rift and saw the last of his children leaving. Taking
what small comfort he could from the sight of the rift
suddenly vanishing in the night, the shade of Jarwa
wished his son and his people safe haven and protection