"Christopher Rowley - Bazil 02 - A Sword For A Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowley Christopher)

Tunina.

Relkin had heard the story many times, of course. Whenever Bazil had
had a barrel of beer or two. So he knew that on this very spot, Baz had
fought the mighty wild dragon, the Purple Green of Hook Mountain, and
won the favor of the green female. And that Baz was by now the male
parent of one or more young dragons, crossbreeds between the wild and
the wingless wyverns of Argonath. And finally that the lithe green female
would return to meet Bazil when the young ones were hatched.

Alas, the wild female dragon had not come, and it didn’t look as though
she was going to appear. Relkin would have a grouchy dragon on his
hands for weeks to come. He sighed. It was enough to make a young man
want to scream.

He looked up and noticed that the murk was darkening. The rain was
falling more heavily than ever. He knew they’d never get a fire going, just
another cold meal and then spend another miserable night sleeping under
a rock overhang.

The big shape moved. Relkin shifted position. His right leg had almost
gone to sleep. He shook it to dispel the pins and needles. Baz was giving up
for the day. Relkin thanked the old gods and then reflexively begged the
Great Mother’s pardon. Relkin was hopelessly mixed up when it came to
religion.

The dragon’s demeanor was subdued when he drew close. “She will not
come, I know this now,” he said in a mournful voice.

Relkin kept quiet. It was better not to say anything. The dragon put out
a huge arm and rested a well-trimmed set of claws on the boy’s shoulder
for a moment. A light touch, remarkable in a two-ton beast.

“Agh, it is all a waste! I am sorry boy, I one foolish dragon. She will not
come.”

Relkin continued to keep a diplomatic silence, and together they groped
their way back through the sopping wet woods to the overhang.

Woods rats had found their food. The jerky was ripped to pieces and
scattered. The oats and wheat biscuit had been gnawed and ruined. Worst
of all, the pot of akh had been licked completely clean. Relkin salvaged a
few fragments for a meal. The dragon ate a pound of unspoiled oats and
the rest of the jerky. Neither did much to stave off the pangs of hunger.

It rained all night.
 In the morning, it was still raining and colder than ever. Relkin awoke
and found Bazil already up and working on the edge of his new sword, a
military issue blade with no name, just the number six hundred and
twenty-seven.