"Elrod, P N - I, Strahd 2 - War Against Azalin e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

night embodied in something that they had not even glimpsed, something that had,
in a remarkably short time, disposed of a dozen well armed men. I could not
expect them to be anything less than utterly desperate, which might prove
troublesome. Desperate men generally do not think clearly, making them
unpredictable and considerably more dangerous.
Since my clothing was in shreds thanks to my delayed reaction, I discarded the
cloak, outer coat, embroidered vest, and what had once been a very fine black
linen shirt. My gold neck chain with the Von Zarovich ruby on its pendant was
undamaged. It would take much more than a sword stroke to remove it from my
person. My pale torso, still bearing scars I had acquired before my change,
would be an easier-to-see target at night, though my personal safety was of
little concern to me. I wanted only to make sure the remaining men did not
injure themselves when I went for them.
The croft was sealed shut now, with no glimmer of light from any chink in the
door or shutters. The men were crouched in the dark, probably tensed and ready
for anything. I crept close, braced myself, and gave the brittle wood a mighty
kick, then moved to dodge clear.
I did not get that far. Some tangibleЧat first I thought it an arrowЧbut unseen
force hurled from the opening and caught me squarely, pinning me in place.
The stale air shot forth from my dormant lungs and my legs turned to water. A
vast hand seemed to hold me in place an instant, then slammed me flat to the
ground. I lay stunned, both by the force of it and the sheer surprise of
anything being powerful enough to affect me.
The brigands were chanting. Their deep voices rose and fell in a strange, oddly
rhythmic tongue. The words pounded at me like hammer blows. Some kind of spellЕ
Not a spellЕ prayer. A plea to one of their alien gods. Whether their deity from
beyond the Mists was able to hear them mattered little; their faith alone was
strong enough to render me helpless. When swords fail, men turn to their gods,
and this lot had the kind of true faith I hadn't faced in a very long time. It
battened me down like a hunting hawk, its talons ripping into my shoulders and
back. I tried to scrabble free, but was utterly trapped in its grasp.
The leader led the chant, his rasping voice knifing through my skull. I writhed
from the pain, the sound alone seemed to burn my flesh. One of the men stepped
forward, his sword raised. I saw the faint green glow of magic streaming from
its cruel blade. As I had done to his comrade so he would do to me and cut off
my head.
Desperate men generally do not think clearly, making them unpredictable and
considerably more dangerous. I was desperate enough to blurt out a spell for my
defense, the first to pop into my head. Had I been thinking I would have
conjured something much less destructive. As it was, a flash of lightning
completely obliterated the dark for a long moment and the deafening crack of its
passage blotted out the leader's voice. I took that blessed respite to roll
clear before the blade came down to deliver me to death.
No need.
By the time my eyes recovered from the flare it was all over except for the
smoke, much of which steamed from three charred corpses. I was unharmed, but the
three brigands were flat on their backs in three different directions. The
leader had been thrown right through the rear wall of the croft.
The bolt had impacted the earth exactly in their midst, leaving a crater a foot
deep. The grass was singed away, of course, and the exposed earth had irregular