"Stan Nicholls - Orcs First Blood 01 - Bodyguard of Lightning" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nicholls Stan)

where Stryke's Wolverines were gathered.

He squinted at it. 'Can anybody make out the handler?'

They shook their heads.

The living projectile came at them unerringly. Its vast, slavering jaws gaped,
revealing rows of yellow teeth the size of war helms. Slitty green eyes
flashed. A rider sat stiffly on its back, tiny compared to his charge.

Stryke estimated it to be no more than three flaps of its powerful wings away.

'Too low,' Coilla whispered.

Haskeer bellowed, 'Kiss the ground!'

The warband flattened.

Rolling on to his back, Stryke had a fleeting view of grey leathery skin and
enormous clawed feet passing overhead. He almost believed he could stretch and
touch the thing.

Then the dragon belched a mighty gout of dazzling orange flame.

For a fraction of a second Stryke was blinded by the intensity of light.
Blinking through the haze, he expected to see the dragon smash into the
ground. Instead he caught sight of it soaring aloft at what seemed an
impossibly acute angle.
Further up the hillside, the scene was transformed. The defenders and some
attackers, ignited by the blazing suspiration, had been turned into shrieking
fireballs or were already dead in smouldering heaps. Here and there, the earth
itself burned and bubbled.

A smell of roasting flesh filled the air. It made the juices in Stryke's mouth
flow.

'Somebody should remind the dragonmasters whose side they're on,' Haskeer
grumbled.

'But this one eased our burden.' Stryke nodded at the gates.

They were well alight. Scrambling to his feet, he yelled, 'To me!'

The Wolverines sent up a booming war cry and thundered after him. They met
little resistance, easily cutting down the few enemy still left standing.

When Stryke reached the smoking gates he found them damaged enough to offer no
real obstacle, and one was hanging crookedly, fit to fall.

Nearby, a pole held a charred sign bearing the crudely painted word Homefield.