"Cunningham, Elaine - Forgotten Realms - Starlight And Shadows Trilogy 02 - Tangled Webs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cunningham Elaine)

The tentacle closed in, wrapped itself tightly around the berserker's chest, and pinned his arms firmly to his side. With a quick, sharp motion-oddly like that of a warrior plucking an arrow from his shoulder-the squid yanked Fyodor from his perch. This particular "arrow," however, was more persistent than most. Fyodor managed to keep his grip on the sword. As the creature pulled him beneath the waves, the berserker finally severed the tentacle that held the Elfmaid captive.

The ship righted itself abruptly, rocking wildly. Liriel clung to the rail of the ship and hauled herself to her feet. Her eyes fixed confidently upon the turbulent battle just beneath the waves. The water roiled and churned from the furious fight, and her keen eyes saw the spread of ichor in the moonlit sea. Steam rose from the icy water, a testament to the unnatural heat that suffused a berserker in full battle frenzy.

"You're calamari," she promised the injured squid, and her voice rang with wicked glee.

But Hrolf did not seem to share her confidence. The captain came to her side and placed a huge hand on her shoulder. "He's gone, lass," he said softly, "and I'm giving the order to flee."

"No," Liriel said calmly, not taking her gaze from the sea.

"There's naught that any of us can do for him. More good men will die unless we put some distance between the ship and that monster," Hrolf persisted.

"Give him time," the drow asserted. Despite her confident tone, Liriel began to feel the first raw edges of worry. Strength Fyodor certainly had, and courage and cunning. Time, however, was in dangerously short supply. Even a berserker needed air.

The sea calmed, suddenly and dramatically. "He is gone," Hrolf repeated, and nodded over Liriel's head to a grim-faced and watchful Ibn. The first mate took his place at the rudder and waved the men toward the oars.

At that moment the squid burst from the water, tossing its enormous head from side to side as ifin mortal anguish. A small bulge rippled along the elastic carapace, working its way upward.

Xzorsh came to Liriel's side, his green eyes narrowed as he studied the creature. "The human is alive," the sea elf said with disbelief. "He is trying to cut his way through!" "Fyodor is inside the creature, alive?" the drow said, hope and incredulity mixing in her voice.

"Squid are difficult to kill, even from the inside," Xzorsh explained grimly. "Had the human been swallowed by a vurgen, he could have cut his way out easily. Here, his only hope is to find the creature's eyes. We have nothing that can cut through that carapace."

Maybe you don't, Liriel thought. The drow scanned the deck, looking for the bag that held her throwing spiders. After several frantic moments, she spotted it tangled up in a length of rope. She quickly snatched up a handful of weapons: fist-sized metal spiders, their eight legs perfectly balanced, tipped in deadly spikes and fortified with the magic of the Underdark.

The drow hurled the spiders, one after another. The magic-enhanced weapons bit deep into the squid's carapace, forming a precise line and opening a wide crack. Before Liriel could stop him, Xzorsh picked up a harpoon and hurled it into the opening. The weapon sank deep into the wound, and the barbed point exploded from one of the creature's eyes. The squid finally went limp, and its tentacles rose to the surface like rays from a sun. The creature was dead, but so might Fyodor be as well.

Liriel whirled on the sea elf, speechless with rage.

"To show him the way out," Xzorsh explained.

Sure enough, a hand groped its way along the exposed shaft of the harpoon. In a moment, Fyodor's head burst from the ruined eye. He dashed the gore from his face and dragged in several long breaths. His foe was dead; the battle rage slipped away. For as long as a berserker rage lasted, he never felt pain, or cold, or exhaustion. Those things would come now.

With difficulty, the young warrior squeezed himself through the eye socket and began to swim with uncertain strokes for the ship. Xzorsh dove into the water to help, and a dozen hands reached out to help the day's hero aboard.

Fyodor slumped to the deck, pale as seafoam. His shirt had been ripped from shoulder to waist, and blood welled up from a dozen circular wounds. The sea elf began to tend the man, his movements so sure and deft that not even Liriel thought to interfere.

"Now there's a tale to tell your son's sons," Hrolf declared, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's lucky we are to have a berserker aboard!"

"It's ill fortune at work here!" the first mate said angrily. "Granted, the lad killed the creature. But by my reckoning, the squid never would have attacked if the female had not been aboard! And for that matter, what kind of man calls a black elf woman friend?"

It was a long speech for Ibn, and the sheer passion in his words brought sympathetic murmurs from the battered crew. Dark, furtive glares skittered toward the drow.

"What kind of man?" Hrolfrepeated and then shrugged. "I also count the drow as a friend, and by my reckoning I captain this ship still. So speak your mind as you will, lad, but my orders stand."

There was nothing Ibn could say to that. He recognized his mistake at once. Every man aboard held the captain in high esteem, and most of them regarded the wounded berserker with something approaching reverence. They were willing enough to turn upon the drow, but not one among them could discredit what Fyodor had just done or would argue against the word or will of their captain. So the first mate contented himself with muttering, "Bad fortune!" as he stalked off in search of a dry pipe.

"Pay him no mind, lass," Hrolf advised Liriel. "Ibn is a good man, but slow to let go once he takes hold of something. He's not one for new ways, and yours are strange to us all." He east a curious look at the young wizard. "During the battle you spoke a word-calamari-to the squid. What is that-a magic spell? A curse?"

"A meal," the drow returned slyly. Now that the danger had passed, her dark sense of mischief returned in full. She ripped the severed tentacle from the fallen sailor and strode across the deck to present it, still twitching, to Ibn. "You wanted me to help with provisions? Fine. We will eat as drow do. Have this sliced, dipped in batter, and fried in rendered rothe fat. Calamari. It's quite good," she assured the mate, who was turning sickly green as he regarded the appendage.