"Clayton Emery - Card Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

The sailors hefted clubs. "Rush her, Ned!"

Light as a deer, the swordswoman skipped backwards, landed in a
patch of light. Byron saw red stripes and a yellow-flowered vest, colorful as
a pirate. Something long and curved and clunky bobbled behind her hip.
Then she bounced out of the light and was gone. The sailors stumbled into
the circle and cast about stupidly, like fools in a stage play.

Byron realized she'd shown herself deliberately to lure the sailors on, for
now she returned.

An arm and blade, and no more, flickered from the shadows. The rapier
thrust through the second sailor's side just above the hip. He gasped at the
cold slice. The blade travelled on to pink the first sailor, Ned, in the belly,
and he dropped back in horror, clapping his hand over the wound.

Ned grew furious at these beestings from the dark. Howling, he dodged
around the blade and charged the mysterious woman.

She kept her head, even leaving her blade lodged in the first sailor's
side. As Ned charged around his comrade, she plied the rapier as a lever.
The stricken man hissed as the blade through his gut wheeled him neatly
as a team of oxen.

Stunned, trying to climb off the ivy, Byron wanted to whistle. A rapier
was only sharp along its final six inches. Otherwise, the blade was dull;
designed for neat surgical jabs, not slashing or hacking, which would only
break the thin tempered steel. Byron had seen many swordfights in the
streets and at fairs, and this swordswoman knew the sport to perfection.
With a single blade, she pinned one man helpless, plied him as a shield,
and threatened his partner.

The punctured sailor whined like a mouse caught in hawk talons."Ned,
backтАФoff!" But Ned was angry. Swinging his club, he charged wide to
circle behind. The swordswoman's whistle pierced the air. Staggering to
his feet, clutching the ivy wall for support, Byron wondered what she
whistled up. It sounded like a summons for a dogтАФ

The ground thumped in rhythm, then a hairy form like a werewolf
exploded from the shadows. A brindled hound big as a man drove two
huge paws into Ned's chest. Long white teeth snapped inches from his face
as he fell backwards with the dog atop. When his back slammed the alley,
the dog mashed its slobbery jaws against the sailor's. Knife and club had
gone flying when the monster appeared. Ned could only grab for the dog's
studded collar, but the animal twisted from side to side, snapping hard
enough to sever cordwood, and the sailor flung his hands clear. Another
whistle, and the dog hopped off the sailor's chest, making him grunt
explosively. Twisting her sword and shoving, the swordswoman toppled
the wounded sailor onto Ned. He fell gasping and bleeding. In all this