"Jeffrey Lord - Blade 28 - Wizard of Rentoro" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lord Jeffery)

sprawled on the gravel, kicking and screaming hysterically, frightened into a fit but otherwise unhurt. The
man-at-arms rode on without a backward glance at his victim.
Toward the other end of the village Blade saw a woman burst out of a doorway, trying to make a
dash across the street. Two of the men-at-arms saw her and pulled their mounts around so violently
Blade expected the animals to lose their footing on the wet gravel. If the men-at-arms went down, it
would be easy for the villagers to surround them and take them prisoner or bash out their brains.
The white riding antelopes were too sure-footed. They reared, seemed to spin on their hind legs, then
dashed toward the woman. One man rode between her and the houses on the far side of the street. The
other swept in behind her, pulled his mount to a stop, and sprang down from the saddle. She whirled,
mouth opening in a shrill scream. The man dropped his sword and punched the woman in the stomach
hard enough to double her up. Then he grabbed her by the shoulders, threw her on her back on the
gravel, pulled her skirts up to her waist, and went to work.
Four of the six men-at-arms raped the woman, and her screams floated up and down the village
street. As the fourth man rose and began doing up his breeches, the remaining two rode out from behind
a barn. One bad a nude teenage girl slung across his saddle, her hands and feet bound and tied to his
stirrups. The other had his crossbow cocked and aimed, and was herding ahead of him two husky young
men, barefoot and stripped to the waist.
As the last two men-at-arms rode out into the street, a wild cry of rage exploded from one of the
houses. A door flew open and a gray-haired man with a huge ax swinging in his hands burst into view. He
took three steps, then the rider with the crossbow shifted his aim and fired. The bolt took the man in the
leg and he went down with a howl of pain.
This seemed to snap the armored leader out of his trance. In a single fluid motion he lowered his
lance and dug in his spurs. His mount leaped forward, spraying gravel. The lance dipped and plunged
with terrible precision straight into the center of the man's chest. He rose clear of the ground, impaled on
the lance as the leader swept on. Then the body slid free and thudded face down into the street. The
leader pulled his mount around, wiped the blood from the lance point on the dead man's clothes, and
rode back up the street. In a sharp voice he gave three orders the words of which Blade could not make
out. Then his face turned up to the sky again and he fell back into his trance.
The man with the ax was the first and the last bit of resistance from the villagers. No one else did
anything but scream or try to run a few steps as the men-at-arms swept back and forth through the
village. Three more women writhed and cried out under the pounding bodies of the riders. A dozen more
children were frightened into fits or fainting spells. Another young man was dragged out of a hut and
bound with the first two. A second girl was stripped naked and thrown over a rider's saddle.
Then three of the men remounted and sat with crossbows at the ready. Of the other three, two began
going into houses and barns and hauling out clothes, shoes, small articles of furniture, dishes, whatever
seemed to come to hand. Some of it they smashed, some of it they trampled, some of it they just left lying
on the ground where they threw it. The street began to look like a trash dump.
The third man-at-arms was the largest of all the riders, inches taller and broader than Blade himself.
He wore a thick red beard and an ugly scar ran across his left cheek. He picked up the dead man's ax
and strode up and down the street, taking swings at anything he felt like hitting. Porch beams split in two,
doors fell off their hinges, fence rails were chopped into firewood.
At last the leader came out of his trance for a second time. He did not speak, but his quick gestures
were so clear and precise that no words were needed. The three young men were each tied by the wrists
to one of the stirrups. The dismounted men-at-arms scrambled into their saddles. The leader raised his
lance high into the air and swung it in three slow circles. Then he spurred his mount forward and the
men-at-arms did the same. All seven men rode out of the village at a brisk trot, the three young men
trying desperately to keep their feet and the two unconscious women bouncing wildly. The red-bearded
man brought up the rear. As he reached the end of the street he flung the ax down and spat on it. Then all
seven riders were vanishing into the grayness without a backward glance.
Blade wasted no time wondering what all this might mean. There were clothes, footgear, and perhaps