"01 - Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham 1.0.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Starlight And Shadows)

his wounded arm close to Shakti's eyes, so the myopic priestess could make out
the marks of goblin fangs, the long red scores of their claws.
The goblins are revolting," he repeated. At last, he had her attention. "You've
sent a message to the city guard?" Shakti demanded.
He hesitated, a bit too long. "We have."
"And? What did they say?"
"Donigarten has it own protections," the drow quoted tonelessly.
Shakti let out a burst of bitter laughter. Translated, that meant only that the
ruling matrons had more important matters on their minds than the loss of a few
goblin slaves and the premature slaughter of some of the rothe. The rest of the
city was safe from any unpleasantness that might occur on the island, for the
only egress from Donigarten was by boat, and the only boat was secured, docked
behind the office. Which meant, of course, the goblins would attack this very
room.
Shakti snatched up her magic pitchfork—the weapon of choice for the Hunzrin
family—and acknowledged her fate with a grim nod. It had come to this: the house
nobles were forced to do battle with their own slaves.
At once there was a scrabble at the door, the sound of goblins clawing at the
stone with their small, taloned fingers. The Hunzrin princes flanked their
sister and raised their unblooded weapons. Shakti, however, had no intention of
waiting out the little monsters. It never occurred to her she might flee. The
rothe herd must be cared for, and that was what she intended to do.
So Shakti leveled her pitchfork at the door. Bracing the weapon against her hip,
she covered her eyes with her free hand. The tines of her weapon spat magic.
Three lines of white flame streaked toward the door, and the heavy slab of stone
exploded outward with a spray of fragments and a thunderous roar.
For several moments all was a confusion of blinding light, cries of pain, and
smoke heavy with the smell of charred flesh. Then the surviving goblins rallied
and came on. A half dozen of the creatures roiled into the room, brandishing
crude weapons fashioned of rothe bone and horn bound together with dried sinew.
Shakti's youngest brother leaped forward, pitchfork leading. He impaled the
nearest goblin and flung it over his shoulder like a forkful of straw. The
wounded goblin soared, flailing and shrieking, out the back window. There was a
long, fading wail as it tumbled toward the luminous crea- tures waiting below,
then a splash, then silence. Wild grins twisted the Hunzrin brothers' faces, and
they fell upon the remaining goblins, pitchforks flashing as they reaped the
grim harvest.
Shakti stood back and allowed the boys their fun. When the first rush of goblins
had been dealt with, she stepped into the blasted doorway to meet the next
attack. A gangling, yellow-skinned female was the first to come. Holding high a
bone dagger, the goblin flung itself at the waiting drow. Shakti coolly
sidestepped the thrust and jabbed her pitchfork forward, stabbing through her
attacker's uplifted arm.
At a word from the young priestess, magical lightning lit the pitchfork's tines
and streaked into the goblin's body. With the first jolt, the slave's fierce
scowl melted into an almost comical look of surprise. Lank strands of hair rose
and writhed about its head like the snakes of a medusa, and the goblin's scrawny
body shuddered convulsively. The lightning flowed on and on, and although the
goblin shrieked and wailed in anguish, it could not pull free of Shakti's
pitchfork. Another goblin grabbed the yellow female's imprisoned wrist—whether