"Clayton Emery - Forgotten Realms - Forged In Fire" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

"To the dromon! Board the Shark's Fang!" A true captain again, Heart of a
Lion shoved people headlong up onto the gunwale, even picked up a few
and lobbed them bodily into the low-built dromon. "Harun, make ready to
set sail! Saida -- no, she's dead. Kalil, pull a hatchet and cut the grappling
ropes! Jassan, helm the rudder to haul us away from the cog! You sailors,
beat out flames!"

A slave to custom, Heart of a Lion refused to leave the deck until his crew
was safe. Once all the living were aboard, he cast a last look around the
cog to see if anyone remained.
The ship was a vision of hell. Smoke roiled and billowed across the deck
like thunderclouds. Through dark curtains he glimpsed burning dying merrow
like ghosts condemned to torment, staggering or crawling or writhing in
thrashing balls. Paint curled and burned in long uneven stripes. All the
rigging, dried by the fierce southern sun, blazed like tinder. Glancing aloft,
the pirate chief saw the standing and running rigging would soon collapse
the burning sails and smother everything. Barrel after spilled barrel burned
madly like candles, and Heart of a Lion wondered if the sealed barrels
would soon explode like dwarven tunnel magic. If so, he needed to get
many sea miles distant. Turning to mount the gunwale with a grunt --

-- he paused.
Something had caught his eye. Movement where it shouldn't be. Whirling,
he faced the billowing fire. The horrific heat dried his face and eyeballs,
making him squint. But somewhere --

There!

"Shar shield her most shameful son!" prayed the pirate. Clutching his
fire-wand, he ducked his head and charged the flames.
What he'd seen was a huddled crawling figure, not a dying merrow, but the
marine lieutenant Belinda. She'd been hammered to the deck but not killed,
too tough to die, Heart of the Lion realized. Sweating buckets in fright,
barely daring to breathe, he zigzagged past knee-high flame, skirted a
rolling burning barrel, stopped, dashed under a flaming flap of sail, then --
his heart stopped cold -- leapt over the open hatchway and crashed
clumsily on one knee. An ankle popped like a old twig, and agony coursed
up his leg.

Still, the fat pirate reached the lean lieutenant by skittering clumsily to her
side. Dazed, she crawled aimlessly away from the nearest fires. Her pink
silk shirt smouldered and her yellow sash was ablaze. With no breath to
explain, Heart of a Lion ripped off his turban, beat out the fire, then
dropped the greasy burning folds. Kneeling, gasping, he hooked a meaty
arm around her slim middle and rolled her to his broad shoulder. With a
grunt, and grimace of pain from his sprained ankle, the pirate chief
squinted in smoke and fire and staggered towards the dromon, which
seemed to lay a hundred leagues across a burning wasteland that would
put the Nine Hells to shame.
Limping, cursing, praying, Heart of a Lion groped towards safety and cool