"Eric Flint - Mother of Demons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

caught by a uglandine! Or crippled."
She stopped and surveyed the caravan.
Not that asleep or crippled doesn't describe this caravan pretty well, she
thought contemptuously.
The caravan had stopped for the day, at midafternoon. The yurts had been
erected in the middle of the trail, for no one had any desire to sleep amidst
the akafa reeds which grew lushly on either side. Akafa was altogether noisome
-- smelly, and full of slugs.
Kjakukun herself had not wanted to stop before nightfall brought cover from
sharp Kiktu eyes. But the helots who hauled the slave cages were exhausted.
Not surprisingly -- Kjakukun had driven them mercilessly for days. The caravan
master had attempted to convince the slavers and the guards to haul the cages,
but of course they had refused. It was beneath their status, and they had seen
no Kiktu. They were convinced there were none in the area. It was Kiktu
territory, true. But everyone knew that the Kiktu were far to the west,
organizing themselves and their tribal allies to meet the Utuku menace.
Nukurren did not share their complacency. The Kiktu might be preoccupied, but
she knew them well. The tribespeople guarded their territory closely,
especially in the vicinity of the Chiton. The area around the mountain had
become a refuge for the hunnakaku, whom the Kiktu revered. Slavers would not
normally even think of coming here. The Kiktu were ferocious warriors, and
they bore a total hatred for slavers.
Still, they were almost out of Kiktu lands. The expedition had been a great
success -- four slaves captured, when most expeditions nowadays considered a
single hunnakaku worth the effort. Hunnakaku slaves were much in demand in the
great prevalates of the south. Most labor was done by helots, or gukuy slaves,
but it was still a mark of prestige to possess a hunnakaku. The most powerful
rulers even ate the flesh of the creatures, on occasion, claiming it to be the
world's greatest delicacy.
The world is full of evil, thought Nukurren. Evil without end. I think it must
have always been so, despite what the stinking priests say. And I am certain
it will never change.
Gazing upon the caravan, she emitted a soft whistle of contempt. She wasn't
sure what she found more offensive -- the slovenliness of the guards, or the
brutality of the slavers. She was a mercenary herself now, of course. Had been
for many eightyweeks, ever since she and Dhowifa fled Shakutulubac. But she
still had the training and the attitudes of an elite warrior, and she had
nothing but scorn for the other mercenaries. She had made no pretense how she
felt about them. They resented her deeply, but naturally they did nothing.
Except -- of this she had no doubt -- whisper lurid and disgusting remarks to
each other concerning Nukurren and Dhowifa.
A loud hooting from further down the caravan line drew her attention. A half-
eight of mercenaries were clustered about one of the cages, whistling with
laughter. She moved toward them.
As she drew near, she saw that one of the slavers was amusing herself by
tormenting the hunnakaku in the cage with a blowpipe. The slaver was shooting
practice darts at the mantle of the pitiful creature, who was cowering against
the far side of the cage, hooting loudly, her mantle brown with misery. The
four mercenaries apparently found the sight of the sub-gukuy's pathetic
attempts to fend off the darts vastly amusing.