"Holly Lisle - World Gates 01 - Memory of Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lisle Holly)

Her rescuers dropped her on the ground, then squeezed in tightly on either side of her. “No sound,” a

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voice whispered in her ear, but whoever offered this advice need not have spared breath or chanced even
the risk of a whisper; she could hear the hell behind her, and she would no more voluntarily call that
down upon herself than she would throw herself in front of live fire to see what might happen. She did
what she could to help her own survival; she breathed through her mouth because that made less noise
than breathing through her nose, and she forced all of her muscles to relax, and she tried to think of
anything she might do to save her own life if she and her rescuers were discovered. She wouldn’t be able
to do much. With an M-16 and a thousand rounds, she bet she’d be able to make a positive contribution
to the fight, but all she had to offer were two blanket-wrapped feet, two bare hands, and no weapons of
any sort.

And whatever had landed on the caravan was big. Really big.

She could feel the creatures to either side of her trembling. The roars had words in them, though not
words she could understand. Trees shattered with cannon booms and carts and cart beasts came sailing
through the air to land in the forest all around the place where she and her kidnappers hid. Men shouted,
and fought, and died, and Molly heard screams, and then fewer screams, and then no screams at all.

And then the thunder of leather wings filled the air again, and the roaring stopped.

Silence.

The hiss of snow falling on snow, the rattle of branches one against another in the frozen forest, and not
so much as a moan, a whisper, the sob of someone begging salvation or release.

For a long time, she lay unmoving between the two who had taken her away from the wagon caravan.
Then she felt them move, and she sat up, slowly, shook the blanket away from her face so that she could
see, and looked from one to the other.

“Rrôn,” the one to her left said in the softest of voices. “They felt the healing. They came.”

The other one said, “You will have to walk now. No wagons will be left. Stay with us, though, for the
rrôn may check the road—you do not want them to find you.”

“What about helping the survivors?” she asked. “The injured?”

“The rrôn would not leave survivors. The injured are dead.”

“Others like us, then?”

“If any hid instead of fighting to protect you, better they throw themselves on the mercy of the rrôn than
ever return to Copper House.”


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