"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 26 - City of the Living Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

The Aygoon said nothing. He merely pointed at the chief. Two of the musketeers came at him, their
weapons held high, butt down. The butts swung, and the chief sprawled on the ground, clutching one
arm. One of the soldiers kicked him in the groin, and this time there were no words in his scream of
agony.

Blade held his breath. He was certain that in the next moment he'd see a bloody massacre as the
villagers stormed forward and the soldiers let fly with muskets and bows. Without the iron determination
of their chief, what would hold back the villagers?

In that moment Blade would have given an arm and a leg for some weapon that could reach across the
distance between him and the Aygoon to strike the man down.

There was no massacre. The musketeers and the archers kept their weapons raised. The cavalry
assembled on either side of the villagers, set to ride into the crowd with lances out. The Aygoon stood in
the middle of it all, his sword raised, not sparing a look for the man on the ground or the woman his
soldiers were now loading into one of the red-curtained wagons. Gradually the villagers' anger and will to
fight faded away. Still more gradually they drifted back through the gate into the villager or back out
toward their fields and pastures.

Blade didn't wait for the soldiers to form up and march off. He crept away from the wall, then ran
through the orchard to the fields. He worked his way through the waist-high standing grain until he came
to where he'd seen some of the men at work. As he'd guessed, there were clothes and footgear lying
scattered where the men had left them. Just as important, there were tools that could be used as
weapons. Blade rapidly snatched up a pair of baggy leggings and a goatskin jacket, then a sickle and a
six-foot staff of limber, dark wood. He was on his way back into the orchard before the first villagers
entered the field. With luck, they'd assume the Shoba's men had carried off the missing articles along with
everything else they'd taken and not bother looking for a thief.

No doubt there were Dimensions where people who behaved like the Shoba's soldiers were really the
side Blade ought to be on. Perhaps this was one of them. Common sense told Blade that he should wait
a little longer before making an enemy of the Shoba. No doubt making an enemy of the Shoba would
make him a friend of the villagers, but was it worth it?

It was. Never mind what common sense told him. Blade had to listen to his instincts. Those instincts told
him to strike. They told him that people who kidnapped young men and women, who shot small children
and smashed up village walls, who carried off gold and grain, were people who would be his enemies
sooner or later.

So why not now?

Chapter 4

The Shoba's men marched only about five miles to the south before making camp for the night. They
settled in by a thick stand of scrubby trees and sent out woodcutting parties. By the time darkness fell, a
score of fires was blazing cheerfully.

From the shelter of the trees, Blade watched the camp settle down. He smelled wood smoke and
roasting meat, heard the drunken laughter of soldiers and ragged trumpet calls. He saw the women's
wagons parked in the very center of the camp, but none of the women. Finally, he saw sentries take up