"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 01 - The Bronze Axe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

ear, and again he caught the wanton scent ofchypreso oddly out of place.
"You see the one who stands aside, who does not dance or sing, she who carries the great golden
sword?"
Blade nodded. There were perhaps fifty of the robed and cowled Drus, their faces hidden in shadow,
dancing slowly about the huge fire. They were all clapping hands and singing as they went through the
convolutions of the dance, an antic movement that yet was somehow measured, stately; the natural
merriment of the swirling tropes being smothered by the weight and gravity of matters yet to come.
The Dru pointed out by Taleen stood well off to one side. She was thin and straight as a birch, her
face hidden by a cowl, her hands crossed over the hilt of a golden sword so long that, with its point in the
earth, the hilt came to the scarlet cord that girdled her waist.
Taleen whispered again. "That is Nubis, the High Priestess. My cousin Lycanto is terrified of her. So
am I. So would you be if you were not a fool. Look yonder, Blade, in the shadows beyond the dancers
and then tell me if I am a liar."
Blade looked and did not like what he saw. A naked young girl, bound and gagged, lay on a crude
hurdle to which leathern pulling straps were attached.
The big man, straining to see, made out a glimmer of white as the girl rolled her eyes at the dancers
criss-crossing around the fire. Blade knew stark terror when he saw it, and he was seeing it now. She
was not a pretty girl, and she was fat and dumpy, her too large breasts already broken and sagging. Her
legs were fat, her ankles thick and peasant was written all over the dull white nakedness of her. Blade,
watching her strain against her bonds, moving a little on the hurdle, all the while rolling her eyes in fear,
felt a tinge of pity. It was not a familiar emotion and was probably misplaced. He did not really believe in
Taleen's wild stories.
The chanting stopped suddenly. The dancers broke ranks and began to scurry about in apparent
confusion, but after a moment Blade saw that a pattern was emerging. Until now he had been feeling the
night chill; now sweat began to bead and roll on his forehead.
The Drus were well disciplined. They worked fast and in perfect harmony. Forked sticks were driven
into the earth on either side of the fire and a long pointed spit of bronze was laid over the fiercely glowing
coals. One of the Drus, carrying heavy bags of charcoal, began to bank and build the fire into an even
bed of white hot flame.
Taleen hissed softly in his ear. "See. Over there. The big oak stump. I have heard of it. They call it
the King Oak."
The High Priestess, carrying the long golden sword, was walking to the stump now. The oak stump,
a massive flat table some eight feet across, was capped by a wheel of thin stone that was darkly
splotched.
Four of the Drus seized the leather straps of the hurdle and pulled it toward the stump. Blade could
see the girl's mouth contorting under the gag as she tried to scream. His hand closed hard around the hilt
of his sword. Sweat ran into his eyes. It was crazy, impossible, insane—but he would have the element of
surprise. He just might—
Princess Taleen sank her sharp nails into his bare arm. She was reading his thoughts.
"No, Blade! Do not even think it. Do not think that because they are women it will be easy. They are
monsters, all of them, and they fight like men. Even if you could save the girl, even if we escaped, that
would not be an end to it. They will go to Lycanto and demand our lives. Our bodies. He will give us to
them. He is terrified of them. At the very least he will turn us away from Sarum Vil and we will be without
food, or shelter, or protection. Listen to me, Blade! For once do not be a fool!"
He forced his great muscles to uncoil. For a moment there he had been on the verge—but this time
Taleen was right. If he meant to survive in Alb, and he did, then he must suppress the rage, the shock,
and the sickness that was moving in his belly. Richard Blade was rock hard, but it has been said that even
stones can weep.
So he watched, and with a great effort kept from retching. And noted that the slim barbarian by his
side was not nearly as sickened as he. Her sole concern was for herself.