"Dragonlance - Death Gate Cycle 07 - The Seventh Gate - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman 1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragonlance)

"I don't know what you are, man-wyrm," the dragon was saying. "I've never seen anything like you. But I plan to find out. I must have leisure to study you. Take you apart."

"Damn!" Hugh the Hand muttered. "The very sound of the thing makes me want to piss my pants. Is it talking to Alfred, do you think?"

Marit nodded. Her lips compressed to a thin line. She knew what she had to do; she only wanted the courage to do it. Rubbing her burning arm, the sigla flaring red and blue, she ignored their warning and began creeping forward toward the voice, using its rumbling as cover for her own movement through the brush. Hugh the Hand followed her.

They were downwind of the dragon. It shouldn't be able to pick up their scent. Marit only wanted to get the creature in sight, to see if it had truly captured Alfred. If notЧand she was hoping desperately it had notЧthen she could follow common sense and run.

No shame in running from such a powerful foe. Lord Xar was the only Patryn Marit had ever known who had fought a Labyrinth dragon and survived. And he never spoke of the battle; his face would darken whenever it was mentioned.

"The ancestors have mercy!" Hugh the Hand breathed.

Marit squeezed Hugh's hand, cautioned him to keep quiet.

They could see the dragon easily now. Marit's hope was dashed.

Standing propped up against the bole of a shattered tree was a tall and gangling man with a bald headЧ smeared with bloodЧdressed in the tattered remnants of what had once been breeches and a velvet frock coat. He had been in dragon form when they saw him during the battle. CertainlyЧby the destruction in the forestЧ he must have been in dragon form when he crashed headlong into the woods.

He was not in dragon form now. Either he was too weak to sustain the magical transformation or, perhaps, his enemy had used its own magic to reveal the Sartan's true appearance.

Surprisingly, considering that his first reaction to any sort of danger was to faint dead away, Alfred was conscious. He was even managing to face this terrible foe with a certain amount of dignity, though this was rather impaired by the fact that he was nursing a broken arm and his face was gray and drawn with pain.

The dragon towered over its prey. Its head was huge, blunt-nosed and rounded, with rows of razor-sharp teeth protruding from the lower jaw. The head was attached to a neck that seemed too thin to support it. The head swung back and forthЧsuch constant oscillating motion could sometimes hypnotize hapless victims. Two small and cunning eyes, on either side of the head, moved independently of each other. The eyes could rotate in any direction, focus forward or backward as required, allowing the dragon to see everything around it.

Its two front legs were strong and powerful, with claw-like "hands," which could lift and carry objects in flight. Enormous wings sprouted from the shoulders. The hind legs were muscular, used to push the dragon off the ground and into the air.

The tail was the deadliest part of the creature, however. The red dragon's tail curled up and over the body. On the end was a bulbous stinger that injected venom into the victim, venom that could either kill or, in small doses, paralyze.

The tail flicked out near Alfred.

"This may burn a little," the dragon said, "but it will keep you docile during our trip back to my cave."

The tip of the stinger grazed Alfred on the cheek. He screamed; his body jerked. Marit clenched her hands tight, dug the nails into her flesh. Beside her, she could hear Hugh the Hand breathing hard, gulping for air.

"What do we do?" His face was covered with sweat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Marit looked at the dragon. A limp and unresisting Alfred dangled from the creature's front claws. The dragon carried the man carelessly, as a small child might carry a rag doll.

Unfortunately, the wretched Sartan was still conscious, his eyes open and wide with fear. That was the worst part of the dragon's venom. It kept the victim paralyzed but conscious; feeling, knowing everything.

"Nothing," Marit answered quietly.

Hugh the Hand glowered. "But we have to do something! We can't let it fly offЧ"

Marit put her hand over the man's mouth. He hadn't spoken above a whisper, yet the dragon's huge head was shifting swiftly toward them, its roving eyes searching the forest.

The baleful gaze raked across them, passed on. The dragon continued its search a bit longer; then, losing interest perhaps, it began to move.

It was walking,